Reluctant Detective (27 page)

54

The offices of Fitzgerald, Ryan and Keene were in the second floor of a renovated residence on Water Street. From the front porch one
could hear noises from the marina and tour buses loading passen
gers from a cruise ship near Founders' Hall. From the second floor windows one could even glimpse the harbour.

Anne and Dick Clements made their way up the stairs. The treads
creaked, but plush carpeting muffled their sound. The carpeting extended to the reception area near the top of the landing and
spilled down the hallway to the doors of a suite of offices. A bulky, curt, grey-haired secretary notified Michael Ryan of their presence
and led them to one of the dark panelled doors. She knocked
deferentially and opened it.

Framed university degrees, citations, and certificates hung like
an aura behind Michael Ryan. Several bright modern oil paintings hung on two walls, and photos filled empty spots. Ryan sat behind
an oversized desk at the far side of the room. His desk was a dark
cherry. It matched the book cases, lamp stands, two closed cabinets,
and a coffee table. Two large, dark brown, leather armchairs stood
in front of his desk. The secretary ushered them in, and Ryan rose to greet them.

“Michael, you know Anne Brown, I presume.”

“I believe so. Ms. Brown,” he nodded in acknowledgement. “Here,
let me get another chair. Dick wasn't sure you could attend. We're
pleased you could make it.”

“Don't include me in that remark. Frankly, I was hoping that she
wouldn't show. She's been costing me money. Now she's wasting my
time with a frivolous delay,” sputtered Patty Pacquet. She scarcely could be seen behind the high back of the armchair and, until then,
Anne had not been aware she had been in the room.

“Let's all take a deep breath,” said Ryan, his voice louder, but still soft and appeasing.

“Can't do that, I'm afraid. There's a rotten smell in here. Did you
catch a whiff of it, Dick? Smells like that stinky French cheese. What do they call it…?”

“Whaddya mean by that smart remark?” Patty Pacquet was
standing now, facing Anne. She had a firm grip on her purse strap,
and her arm was cocked back.

“Just an observation,” she said innocently.

“Another one like that and you'll get the back of my hand across that little face of yours.”

“Please, don't. I have no idea where those hands have been.”

Patty's eyes blinked twice as the words registered. Then she leapt toward Anne. Her purse swung in its arc. Ryan's arms shot forward
to keep Patty from getting to Anne. Anne took one step back. Ryan
caught Patty around the waist, but her purse clipped the side of his head.

Ryan held Patty firmly and led her back to her seat.

“Stay seated,” he ordered. “Both of you,” he added, “or we'll have to cancel this meeting, and that won't serve either of our interests, will it?” Ryan ran his fingers through his tousled hair, and gingerly felt his temple. The skin was growing red and stinging. Then Ryan
took a deep breath himself, sorted through a few papers on his desk, and continued.

“Now, Dick and I have arranged for this meeting to clarify details regarding the removal of effects from the office of Darby Investiga
tions and Security at such address as stated on Victoria Row. Verbal
notice of eviction was given by Ms. Pacquet. Formal papers were
issued and served a week later on Friday, June 29. There's a thirty-day time period required for adequate notice. That would bring us to Monday, July 30. Any problems with that date?”

Ryan looked around. “No? Let's move on then. Ms. Brown, you will
vacate the offices on or before that date. That will allow Ms. Pacquet one full day to prepare for occupancy by her new tenants on the first
of August.”

Ryan looked around again smiling confidently.

“Are we good then? Ms. Pacquet?”

She nodded sullenly.

Dick?”

Dick Clements looked at Anne.

“Anne?”

Anne looked at Ryan. “I've changed my mind. I'm fighting the
eviction.”

Dick looked confused. Then he swallowed a nearly escaped laugh.

Before Anne finished her second sentence, Patty squealed in rage
and headed for Anne again. Michael Ryan sprang up and rounded
his desk to fend off Patty. This time he grabbed both her purse and her arm and led her, still scrambling for a fight, out of the room and
down the hall to a vacant office. When Ryan returned, he looked
flustered.

“Okay, Dick, what's this all about?”

Dick shrugged his shoulders, suppressed a smirk and said, “I had
no idea, but it's my client's prerogative to take legal action if she
wishes.”

“But on what grounds! Dick? Ms. Brown?”

“First of all,” Anne began, “we have a lease that's valid in perpetuity with a fixed rent.”

“Yes, yes, I know that, but the lease was between your uncle…”
Ryan sifted through some papers. “… W. A. Darby, and Mr. Wendell Dundas, Ms. Pacquet's deceased husband. It has nothing to do with you.”

“That's not quite true, counsellor. Anne Brown is W. A. Darby,” said Dick Clements.

“Explain.”

“Her birth name is Wilhelmina Anne Darby. Anne Brown is her
married name.”

“Well, that sleight of hand might work at the Legion bar late
Saturday night, but it isn't likely to hold up in court,” Ryan replied.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Dick said. “It's one point. And another point, somewhat more pertinent, is that the lease agreement is not between Dundas and Darby. It's between Dundas and Darby
Investigations and Security. Even though Mr. Darby is deceased, his company continues to operate and continues to be a viable party to the lease.”

“You have proof of current ownership of the company?”

“I do,” said Dick. He opened his briefcase and passed over Billy
Darby's will. “It's been probated. It clearly makes Anne sole beneficiary of the company and its assets. Not only is she the legal owner, but she has also contributed recently to the company's revenues through her own investigative work.”

“There may be some merit in what you claim. I'll talk to Ms. Pacquet. Perhaps she'll make a concession. Extend the lease until
the end of the year, for example. Naturally, I can't promise anything, but I'll see what I can do.”

“Not good enough,” said Anne. “I'm insisting that the lease contin
ues to function now and into the future in the same way it has in the past.”

“And we shouldn't overlook the wording in the lease which
expressly states that perpetuity conditions apply to all ‘heirs and assignees who operate said company,' should we, Michael.”

“While you're at it, remind Ms. Pacquet how much it will cost to fight this in court… and lose,” Anne interjected. “Money seems to
turn her head; maybe watching it fly into your pocket will make her head spin on its axis.”

“I'll be sure to give her all the options. Thank you, Ms. Brown,
Dick.”

Michael Ryan led the way to the door, but, before they left, he
turned to Anne and said, “Do you mind if I have a word with you in private?”

Dick looked questioningly. Anne nodded an okay to him and added, “I won't be long. Meet you downstairs.”

Michael shut the door behind him, turned to Anne and said,
“Congratulations, Anne.”

“It's Anne now, is it? What happened to Ms. Brown?”

“All the world's a stage, my dear, and I must play my part, see
justice served, and gather up roses tossed from a delighted crowd.”

“That's more BS in the fewest words I've ever heard.”

“Thank you, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me,” he said, “but before you say anything to spoil the moment, I want to suggest something.”

“Go on.”

“How about dinner tomorrow evening?”

Anne felt her cheeks flush and said, “I… I believe I did say that was possible.”

“In Halifax. I'll make reservations. I'll pick you up tomorrow at
five-thirty. We'll fly over and be back before dawn.”

“How about this? I meet you at the airport at six. We'll fly over and be back by three.”

“A respectable compromise. See you then,” he said, and ran his
hands up and down her arms affectionately.

Michael walked her down the hall. The grey-haired receptionist
intercepted him there. “Mr. Livingstone is here for his appointment.
Here's his file. Mr. Quinn left an important message. Can't wait. Ms.
Pacquet left. She'll call back. Winston says he needs an answer, and Jayne is on hold.”

“Ah! The curtain rises. Good afternoon, Ms. Brown,” he said with a wink and hurried back to his office.

Anne dawdled at reception and pretended to look at some
brochures on the legal system until Michael disappeared behind
his door. Then Anne asked the receptionist, “That picture in Mr. Ryan's office. I couldn't help admiring it. Was it taken by a local photographer?”

“Yes,” she answered, pulling her head out of a filing drawer. Then, when she realized that
Anne wanted more information, she added, “Campbell's Photo
Studios.”

“I take it that's Mrs. Ryan. She must be very pleased with it.” Anne felt her voice quaver as she formed the words.

“She is. A lovely woman. Have you met her?”

“I believe I have.”

55

It was a short drive from Fitzgerald, Ryan and Keene to The Blue
Peter, but it was a quiet one. Dick finally broke the icy silence.

“What's the matter? You look like you swallowed a… a… I dunno…
something sour? What's up? You should feel like a million bucks. We
nailed it. You know that, don't you? You'll keep that sweet deal on
the lease until you're old and grey.”

“I feel old and grey right now.”

“What happened? Did Michael try to pressure you somehow? Try to get you to settle?”

“No, nothing like that, Dick. You were great in there… and a good
friend. Thanks for everything. I've just got some personal things on my mind, that's all.”

Dick dropped Anne in front of The Blue Peter and returned to work. She opened the front door, but hesitated in the vestibule
and tried to temper the confusion of emotions which troubled her. Disappointment, anger, shame, and folly. Each vied for dominance,
but no matter which of them won, she knew that it was she who inevitably would be run roughshod over. That was the price for
being vulnerable. That was the price for having a generous heart. That was the price for being receptive to charming men. Men like
Michael Ryan. In that moment she knew that anger had won out.
At least anger burned with a passion, she thought, and a righteous
anger she could live with.

Anne took in a long, deep breath, held it for a few quiet seconds, then let it slowly escape as she pushed through the inner door to
The Blue Peter and strode toward the circular booth in the corner where Ben and Jacqui and Delia McKay were sitting.

“How's the eviction going?” asked Ben.

Anne grabbed Jacqui and gave her a smothering hug. Then she
hugged Delia, whispered “Thanks” in her ear, and sat down next to Ben.

“You don't see me packing my bags, do you?” she said to Ben. “The status quo will prevail, barring any self-destructive mania from the not-so-merry widow. I hear you two have been touring the countryside,” she said, turning to Jacqui.

Jacqui's eyes brightened. She leaned forward.

“It was awesome. On the ferry over we saw tons of lobster boats. We saw dolphins. Almost everyone on the boat spoke French and,
when we got to the Magdalens, there were beaches everywhere.
Aunt Delia called it a ‘surprise vacation from a vacation.' I like that.”

“It sounds wonderful,” said Anne. “Did you find the days long in
Iona?”

“The first day a bit, but Aunt Delia taught me how to fish, and we visited Eloise and Warren and Gary. They have a farm. Gary's their son. He took me for a tractor ride, and do you know what? Pigs are smarter than cows. They're almost as smart as horses, Gary says.
Oh! And you won't believe it! I can bake! Aunt Delia taught me.”

“Incredible!” said Anne and looked at Delia.

Delia nodded, a wry smile fluttered about her lips, and she rolled her eyes.

Jacqui's face suddenly clouded in thought.

“I remember you telling me once that we didn't have any relatives
on the Island,” she said. “but we do. We have a dozen of them. The cemetery's full of them. Aunt Delia and I visited them. Aunt Delia
talks to them, too, and she reminisces about things they used to do.
I thought it was a bit creepy at first, but I got kinda used to it. Of course,” she said turning to Delia and laughing, “she doesn't talk to
some of them. She said ‘I didn't speak to them when they were alive. Why would I start speaking to them now?'”

“Well, what I really meant, Jacqui, was that we have no
living
relatives on PEI,” said Anne.

Aunt Delia cleared her throat very noisily, leaned forward, and
gave Anne a hard stare.

“I'm not under the sod yet, girl.”

Anne flushed with embarrassment. Everyone laughed, including Delia McKay.