Dos Equis (9 page)

“Perfect. I’ll wait there. You go back to work. I’ll come by in a few days and we can catch up.”

As I meandered through the convivial restaurant toward the bookstore, I was immediately sorry I was only there to pick up

take out. But I had dogs at home, waiting to be mollified. I also had a refrigerator full of Mom’s cooking. She’d apportioned the bounty into single meal servings. However, to my mother’s way of thinking, “single meal” means enough food for you and five

friends who haven’t eaten for a week. And, instead of Tupperware, Mom uses decades-old, plastic ice-cream and margarine

containers, which she has dutifully recycled since World War II. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my mother’s cooking. But after

the extravaganza of the previous night, I was looking for something a little more…uncreamy. To be fair to my mother, many of Marushka’s recipes include their own tonnage of cream and butter, but the place also serves the best homemade hamburgers

this side of a Texas BBQ, and I had a hankering for one.

Waving at a few acquaintances as I passed through the mishmash of bustling tables, I suddenly stopped dead in my tracks.

Lingering above the many wonderful smells wafting from Marushka’s kitchen, was something else. Another scent.

Tom Ford cologne.

Now on high alert, I scouted the crowd more closely. A couple of people took notice and gave me strange looks.

Understandably. I was standing in the middle of a crowded restaurant, sniffing at the air and scowling at the diners. I’m sure I looked like some crazy person who’d just been denied a seat and thought he could frown somebody into giving up theirs.

“Russell, are you okay?” It was Dandy Ruff, passing by with a platter of calamari.

“Do you know the smell of a Tom Ford cologne?”

“Does Ivana Trump need a makeover? Of course I do. Why, hon?”

“Is someone in here wearing it?”

Dandy made a show of taking a good whiff of the crowd. “The guy at table ten is close, but it’s not Ford. I know my scents.

He’s wearing Creed. Anything else I can do for you? Maybe a drink while you’re waiting for your order?”

“Thanks, no.”

Was my brain leading my nose astray? Fooling it into smelling the cologne because of my doubts about Jane’s death and who

caused it? Or, was there still a killer out there, wearing Tom Ford…and looking for me?

There is a part of me that could totally be one of those hermit guys. The kind who never leaves his house, surrounding himself with all the things he loves—pictures, books, music, movie collection, good food, bad-for-you food, sweet dogs. I created my home as a place conducive to hibernating. My home is my castle. And every now and again, I like to fill the moat, pull up the drawbridge, and settle in. Tonight I wanted just that.

My mother had gone back to her home on the farm. I had a feast, compliments of Colourful Mary’s, a few special treats for

my special Schnauzers, and a half bottle of Pinot Noir left in the fridge, which needed drinking. The salesperson at Cava

Secreta had promised scents of black cherries, pine tree, and tar, with hints of herbs, vanilla, and oak char. It had delivered on the first go round. I looked forward to more of the same.

Barbra and Brutus were definitely up for some major cuddle time. So we collected our goodies and settled into the front

living room. While the large picture window displayed arctic conditions outdoors, miraculously kept at bay by a few thin,

plates of glass, we lounged in cozy comfort in front of a roaring fireplace. Along with my splendiferous burger, Marushka had added a basket of sweet potato fries, an order of clam chowder (so much for a creamless meal), and, best of all, two chunks of her toasted cornmeal bread, meant to be dipped in warmed honey and eaten with the soup. Bless that woman. Along with my

food and wine, I was in the mood for a little Mozart and more of my book. Barbra and Brutus were happy to work at freeing a

couple of Kongs of the goodies I’d buried within their rubber bellies.

Done with dinner, we retreated to the bedroom. Barbra too. The treat-filled Kong, along with some slavish attention, had

finally done the trick. Given my line of work, and the amount of time I spend travelling, the dogs are used to my being away from home from time to time. A year, understandably, was too long. Which was okay with me. I wasn’t planning a repeat

performance. Cuddled up on the bed, we—well, mostly me—chuckled away as we began re-watching the first season of
Sex in

the City
, until sleep gently took us into its arms.

Some time later, in the magical world of dreamland, I somehow landed a starring role in my very own episode of
Sex in the
City
. I was in my bed. Stark naked. And spread eagled. My hands and feet were fastened to the posts of the bed frame; my own neckties and bathrobe belt used as ropes. Straddled on top of me was a handsome blond man. I smiled at him in a dreamy haze.

He smiled back. He was really something. Wavy hair that shone like strands of gold in the summer sun, the perfect five o’clock shadow on a square jaw, a Brad Pitt grin, and, from what I could see from my compromising position, a finely shaped chest

heaving with…what?...lust for me? I was ready for the next scene.

The man held something above me, positioning it within my line of sight so I could clearly see it. I tried to focus my eyes. It was grey, round… The man began to say something. “Just so you know, if you decide to scream, I’ll have to use this. But I’d

really rather not.” He spoke with a barely-there French accent. Just by his tone I could tell he was sweet and kindhearted.

…but wait a second… Inside my head, another voice shouted: “Do something you big dummy! This is no dream!”

Chapter 6

The mystery did not last long. A distinct scent in the air told me everything I needed to know.

Tom Ford was in the room.

A killer was straddling me.

Of course. After all, it had been at least a few hours since I’d been attacked, cat-scratched, or knocked to the ground. I was getting bored.

But how had he done it? How had he gotten me into this position without waking me up?

My next thought was one of concern. Barbra and Brutus. God, where are my dogs? What has he done to them? They would

never allow a madman to come into the house and do this to me without plenty of fuss. I raised my head—as far as I could,

considering the rest of me was fastened to the bedposts—and searched the room.

Next to the Jacuzzi tub, I found my answer. Laid out before the two—obviously undiscriminating—Schnauzers, was a

veritable horn of plenty, doggie style. I eyed pigs’ ears, antler horns, a bowl of bacon bits, and a selection of my mother’s Ukrainian delicacies displaced from my refrigerator. Evidently they’d been at it for a while. Both dogs were sitting while they ate, tasting a bit of this, then a bit of that, all at a leisurely pace. And they say food is the way to a
man’s
heart? Apparently it did the trick for canines as well.

I stared up at my captor with hate-filled eyes. He was still waggling the roll of electrical tape in my face.

“Soooooooo?” he queried, the French Canadian accent not quite so charming anymore. “Will I be needing this, or…?”

“I reserve the right to scream later, but for now you can put it away.”

“Deal,” he said with a sweet smile, setting aside the tape.

“How did you do this?”

He glanced at the dogs. “Them? Oh, they were the easy part. I used to have dogs all the time at home on the farm.”

A farm boy. Like me. Maybe I could use that to my advantage. Later. “Not them. Me. How did you get me tied up without

waking me up? I know I’m not exactly a light sleeper, but this? Uh uh. No way. How did you do it?” I’d get to the “why” in a minute.

“What?” he asked in mock shock, as if greatly insulted. “And give away trade secrets?”

Trade secrets? So he was a professional captor and killer? What had I gotten myself into? I knew that the longer I dragged

out the talking part of this, and distracted him with questions, the better. “If you’re going to kill me, what does it matter if you tell me your secrets?”

He seemed genuinely taken aback by what I’d said. Now he was truly insulted. “Kill you? Why would you think I would do

such a horrible thing? You actually think I could kill someone?”

“Ah, excuse me. You’re the one who broke into my house, bribed my dogs, and tied me up. And now you’re sitting on top of

me. I’d say that’s pretty threatening. Not to mention that I know you were involved in the death of Jane Cross.”

He laughed. Yeah, that’s all veeeeerrrrrrrrry funny. What a jerk.“ I guess I see your point,” he said, “But, Russell, you’ve got it all wrong. I was the one who thought
you
were Jane’s killer.”

“Oh right. That’s why you jumped me and tried to kill me too, I suppose? Oh, by the way, I’d lay off the Tom Ford cologne.”

He was momentarily speechless after that bit of info. He sniffed at his arm. Looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “You

don’t like it?”

“Well, I prefer…hold on! Are we really talking about cologne right now? Really?”

“You’re right. We’ll talk about that later. I’m sorry about all this. Maybe I got a little carried away. But I thought this might be the only way I could get you to listen to me.”

“Listen to you? About what? You want me to tell the cops you didn’t attack me in Regina, after you killed Jane Cross? Well

you’re in luck. In case you didn’t hear, they arrested someone else for her murder.”

He nodded. “Lynette Kraus. I heard.”

As we chatted away cosily, I was trying my best to loosen one of the four bindings that kept me from knocking this creep on

his ass. It looks so easy in the movies. So far, nothing.

“My name is Jean-Paul Taine. My friends and family…and captives…call me JP.”

Oh, a funny criminal.

“I
was
the one who attacked you in Jane’s office. But only because I thought you might be the murderer, returning to the scene for some reason. I was pissed off. And scared.”

“But if you weren’t there to kill Jane, why were you there? Are you a thief or something?”

He chuckled again. “You don’t think much of me, do you, Mr. Quant?”

“I have to admit,” I responded dryly, “my first impressions haven’t been exactly stellar.”

“I’ll give you that. But I can promise you, by the end of this, you will have changed your mind. Totally.” That Brad Pitt smile again. I wished he would stop that.

“I doubt it,” I said dryly. “Unless you feel like letting me go? These restraints are really starting to hurt, JP.” Playing the familiarity, just-buddies, game.

He studied me, eyes narrowed, lips scrunched to one side. “I think I’m going to wait on that just a bit longer.”

Shit.

“Until my charm has a chance to work its magic on you.”

“I don’t think either of us has that long to live.” Good one, Quant!

He smiled. “We’ll see.” Sensing I was getting a little sore, he shifted his weight a little to the right. “There’s a good reason I was in that office, Russell.”

“I’d like to hear it.”

“I was Jane’s assistant. I’m a part-time PI.”

Now this I didn’t expect.

“I’d just found Jane’s body myself, only minutes before you broke in.”

“I didn’t break in. The door was open.”

“Whatever. You can see how I’d think you were the bad guy.”

“I suppose,” I allowed grudgingly.

“So I tried to take you down. You know how that turned out.”

“Yeah. Thanks for the sucker punch in the gut by the way. I’ll send you a bill for the hernia operation.”

“Sorry about that. But I realized if I didn’t do something, we’d have to fight to the death. One death that night was enough. I wanted to get out of there and call the cops. But then you did. I couldn’t believe it. It was then I began to figure out you weren’t who I thought you were either. We were both wrong.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, we were both wrong. Let me go.”

He ignored my suggestion. “I stuck around to see what was going to happen. When you left for your hotel, I followed you.”

“Then broke into my hotel room.”

“Yup. I needed to find out who you were and why you were in Jane’s office. When I went through your stuff… sorry…

again… I found out you were Russell Quant. Jane had told me all about you. So I came to Saskatoon to…well, to break into

your house, bribe your dogs, and tie you up.”

“Some people just make an appointment, but this is okay too.” Even tied up and at this guy’s mercy, I could still manage a

good dose of smarmy sarcasm.

“Apologies.”

“You still haven’t told me why we find ourselves in this…awkward position.”

“I need your help, Russell. There’s been another murder.”

JP’s words were haunting. And a bit familiar. Turns out that JP believed the same thing Millie Zacharias did. That Lynette

Kraus had murdered her mother Hilda. He’d also convinced me he wasn’t the bad guy. In turn, I convinced him to let me loose.

While I was covering my nakedness with a pair of Rock & Republic jeans and a v-neck T, JP’s sparkling green eyes roved

freely. This, and a couple of telltale signs while he was on top of me, told me in no uncertain terms that Jane had recruited from the community of Friends of Dorothy.

“I don’t see what I can do for you,” I said, shooting Barbra

and Brutus a wordless
shame-on-you
look. To their consternation, I picked up the bowls of canine junk food, and placed them on top of a shelf out of their reach. Brutus had the good sense to look a little sheepish. Barbra went for a smug
see-what-happens-when-you-leave-for-a-year
sneer. “This is a police matter. I never get involved in police matters,” I lied.

“Russell, I can believe Lynette killed Jane,” JP said from where he’d settled on the armchair near my bed. “What I’m afraid

of is that the police will never find out the real reason why. Once they discover Jane was a lesbian, they’ll probably write it off as a lover’s quarrel gone bad. Russell, Jane was killed because of what she knew. She would be horrified if what really