Part 14 (2/2)
”They're coming.”
”What about the cars? Weren't they registered?”
”Both to Guillion. At the St-Jovite address. He also pays the insurance by official check.”
”Does Simonette have a driver's license?”
”Yeah, Belgian. Clean record.”
”Health insurance card?”
”No.”
”Anything else?”
”Nothing comes up.”
”Who serviced the cars?”
”Apparently Simonnet took them to a station in town. The description matches. She paid cash.”
”And the house? A woman that age couldn't do her own repairs.”
”Obviously there were other people living there. The neighbors say the couple with the babies had been around for several months. They'd seen other cars pull in, sometimes in large numbers.”
”Maybe she took in boarders?”
We both turned to Harry.
”You know. Maybe she rented out rooms.”
Ryan and I let her go on.
”You could check the newspapers for ads. Or church bulletins.”
”She doesn't seem to have been a churchgoer.”
”Maybe she ran a drug ring. With this dude Guillion. That's why she got killed. That's why there are no records or anything.” Her eyes were round with excitement. She was getting into it. ”Maybe she was hiding out there.”
”Who is this Guillion?” I asked.
”He's got no police record here or there. The Belgian cops are checking him out. The guy kept to himself, so n.o.body knows much about him.”
”Like the old lady.”
Ryan and I stared at her. Good point, Harry.
A phone shrilled, indicating the lines had been switched to the night service. Ryan glanced at his watch.
”Well, I hope I'll see y'all this evening.” Maverick was back.
”Probably not. I've got to get through this Nicolet report.”
Harry opened her mouth, but seeing my look, closed it.
”Thanks anyway, Ryan.”
”Enchante,” he said to Harry, then turned and headed up the hall.
”That's one good-looking cowboy.”
”Don't train your scope on him, Harry. His little black book has more entries than the Omaha white pages. ”
”Just lookin', darlin'. That's still free.”
Though it was only five, we walked out into deep dusk. Headlights and streetlamps shone through falling snow. I unlocked and started the car, then spent several minutes cleaning the windows and winds.h.i.+eld while Harry scanned the radio choices. When I got in, my usual Vermont Public Radio had been replaced by a local rock station.
”That is so cool.” Harry voiced her approval of Mitsou.
”She's a quebecoise,” I said, s.h.i.+fting between drive and reverse to rock the Mazda out of the snow rut. ”Been big here for years.”
”I mean, rock and roll in French. That is too cool.”
”Yeah.” The front wheels caught pavement, and I joined the flow of traffic.
Harry listened to the lyrics as we wound our way west toward Centre-Ville.
”Is she singing about a cowboy? Mon Mon cowboy?” cowboy?”
”Yes,” I said, turning onto Viger. ”I think she likes the guy.”
We lost Mitsou when we entered the Ville-Marie Tunnel.
Ten minutes later I unlocked the door to my condo. I showed Harry the extra bedroom and went to the kitchen to check my food stock. Since I'd planned to hit the At.w.a.ter Market over the weekend, there wasn't much. When Harry joined me I was rummaging in the tiny closet I call a pantry.
”I'm taking you out to dinner, Tempe.”
”You are?”
”Actually, Inner Life Empowerment is taking you to dinner. I told you. They're paying all my expenses. Well, at least up to twenty dollars for dinner tonight. Howie's Diners Club card will pick up the rest.”
Howie was her second husband, and probably the source of whatever had been in the Nieman Marcus bags.
”Why is Inner Life whatever paying for this trip?”
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