Cut to the Chase. Joan Boswell

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СКАЧАТЬ continue my story, seven years later, when Poppy became pregnant again, she persuaded Adele to return. By then, the woman was over eighty and couldn’t lift or bend. I did those jobs.”

      “You must have been a responsible kid.”

      Candace pursed her lips. “I would have preferred to have been just a kid, but I didn’t have a choice. Anyway, now you know why I think of Danson as my baby. As for his personality—from day one he was a crusader. Always on the side of the underdog. In the Middle Ages, he would have galloped off to battle the Infidels.”

      “We need those passionate people, or society would never change.”

      “I wish Danson wasn’t one of them.” Candace’s lips tightened. “Oh, God, if only Danson was an ordinary guy.”

      “Danson coming?” Elizabeth said. She smiled at Hollis and repeated, “Danson coming,” hopefully.

      “No sweetie, not now.” Candace teared and gulped. “Maybe soon. Eat your raisins.”

      Elizabeth’s smile disappeared, but she obediently bent to her time-consuming task, picking up raisins one by one.

      “Tell me about his passions, the ones you think are dangerous.”

      “Give me a minute,” Candace said, struggling to maintain her composure. Once she’d taken several deep breaths, she continued. “Let me set the scene. One Saturday evening three years ago when Danson and Angie Napier, the love of his life, were sitting in an outdoor café on the Danforth planning their wedding, Angie was killed when she was caught in the crossfire between two gangs. Later, Danson discovered Angie’s killer had been convicted of another crime, deported, returned and, within months, killed Angie.”

      “How could that happen?”

      “We deport criminals to their home countries after they serve minimum time in our prisons. They reenter Canada with phony passports. They’re mostly men, and frequently they commit more crimes. Our immigration officers don’t do a great job.”

      “How does that connect to Danson?”

      “Since that terrible Saturday, he’s waged his own crusade. He track downs the men or women who’ve been convicted, deported and slithered back into Canada.”

      “Are there many?”

      “The numbers would horrify you.”

      “How does he locate them?”

      Candace toyed with the knife with which she’d cut up the bread. “I haven’t asked many questions. The more I know, the more I worry, and I do enough of that. I gather it’s mostly through the street grapevine. That’s why he works as a bouncer; he gets to know people and hears things.”

      “You said passions. That’s plural. What else?”

      “I think it’s because of Angie that he worries about us and does his best to keep us safe. He goes to great lengths to make sure we aren’t connected to his tracking activities.”

      “All done, all done,” Elizabeth squawked. “Down, get down.”

      Candace sighed. “Conversations with kids around are fragmentary at best. Sometimes I think it’s a recipe for early Alzheimer’s.” She tapped the toes of Elizabeth’s sneakers. “I have to buy shoes for her today. Her daycare sent a note home last week saying she needed bigger ones, but I haven’t had time.” She attempted a smile. “I don’t want them to set the shoe police on me.” She unlatched the high chair’s tray with one hand, clutched Elizabeth and eased her to the floor.

      “I understand. When you have a full-time job, you do your shopping when you can.”

      The stress lines around Candace’s mouth relaxed slightly, and she smiled fondly at Elizabeth. “Elizabeth has extra-wide feet. Finding the right ones will be difficult.”

      Elizabeth studied her feet and lifted one for Hollis to inspect. “New shoes. Lizabet get new shoes.”

      Despite the tension in the room, it enchanted Hollis to hear the toddler refer to herself in the third person.

      Candace brushed the crumbs from Elizabeth’s jeans before raising her gaze. “With every passing moment, I’m more fearful. You can’t imagine the physical effect it’s having on me.”

      “I don’t understand what it is that you fear,” Hollis said.

      “I’m afraid something terrible has happened to him. I’m scared to death.” While Candace talked, she repeatedly snapped the cell phone open and shut.

      “I don’t get it. Exactly what do you think might have happened to him?”

      Candace closed her eyes for a moment as though trying to block out something she didn’t want to face. “I don’t even want to admit I’m thinking this,” she said, then stopped and took a deep breath. Finally her gaze met Hollis’s. “It’s the unidentified murdered man they’re talking about in the news. I keep thinking, ‘what if it’s Danson?’”

      Three

      Hollis recalled the article she’d been reading when Candace had come outside. It had speculated that a mutilated and unidentified man’s murder might have been connected to the five male drug addicts who’d been killed in the last months. She shivered. It was a terrible idea, but she understood why Candace thought Danson’s obsession with tracking could have drawn him to the attention of the wrong people. He could be the unidentified man.

      Time to deal with practicalities. “Exactly when did you last talk to him?”

      “Sunday night, October 15. Almost two weeks ago. The day after the four of us had lunch in the garden. He doesn’t work Sundays, and he always calls, even if he’s talked to me the day before.”

      “What did he tell you?”

      “Said he was onto something—that he was closing in. Lot of excitement in his voice.” Candace shook her head. “That’s what’s frightening me.”

      “Closing in on what?”

      “I don’t know.” Candace took a deep breath. “What I’m about to ask is really off the wall. It’s a huge imposition. I apologize, but I don’t know where else to turn.” Hollis suspected she knew what was coming. “Would you help me track him down?”

      Candace hurried on before Hollis could respond. “You can say no, and I’ll understand, and we’ll still be friends. But you do have experience. You have helped solve two murders.” She placed her hands palm to palm in the classic prayer pose. “I’m praying that you won’t refuse.”

      Hollis, who was holding her sandwich halfway to her mouth, lowered it to the plate. Finding missing persons—that’s what private investigators did. Not amateurs. On the other hand, Candace was right. If she wrote a comprehensive resume, it would say, “amateur sleuth who assisted in solving two murders”. Most women didn’t possess that skill set.

      Candace needed her. Thinking selfishly, focusing on Danson’s disappearance would allow her subconscious to work out her painting block. СКАЧАТЬ