Part 39 (2/2)
”Did he ever mention riding with the Angels?”
”He's not wearing colors.”
”Did he, Kit?”
My nephew sighed.
”No.”
”Does he hang with them now?”
”Oh, please. You've seen the guy.”
Yes. I'd seen the guy. On a country road in St-Basile-le-Grand. Across a dinner table. On the late-night news. And in my own home.
The man on the bike was Lyle Crease.
34.
WORDS AND IMAGES FLASHED IN MY BRAIN. PASCAL'S FACE IN neon and shadow. George Dorsey mumbling my name to a paramedic. A glossy eyeball. neon and shadow. George Dorsey mumbling my name to a paramedic. A glossy eyeball.
”. . . are you going to do?” Kit asked.
”Call Isabelle, then go to bed.” I closed down the program and slid the CD into its holder.
”That's it?”
”That's it.”
Sometimes when thoughts are ricocheting inside my head, the best strategy is to lay back and let them find their own patterns.
”Aren't you curious?”
”Very. And I will will find out if Crease has ties to the h.e.l.ls Angels. But not tonight.” find out if Crease has ties to the h.e.l.ls Angels. But not tonight.”
”I could ask around.”
”That is precisely what you will not not do,” I snapped. ”He could be a dangerous man with dangerous friends.” do,” I snapped. ”He could be a dangerous man with dangerous friends.”
Kit's face froze. Then his eyes dropped and he turned away.
”Whatever.” He shrugged.
I waited for the click of his bedroom door, then dialed Isabelle's number. She answered after four rings, sounding slightly out of breath.
”Mon Dieu, I was buried in the back of the closet. I've misplaced my Vuitton overnighter and can't imagine where it is. And, really, nothing else will do.”
”Isabelle, I need some information.”
My tone suggested I was not in the mood for a luggage discussion.
”Oui?”
”I'd like to know about Lyle Crease.”
”Ahhh, Tempe, you little pixie. I knew you would change your mind.”
Like h.e.l.l. ”Tell me about him.”
”He's cute, eh?”
As a mealworm, I thought, but said nothing.
”And you know he is an investigative reporter with CTV. Very glamorous.”
”How long has he done that?”
”How long?”
”Yes. How long?”
”Mon Dieu, forever.”
”How many years?”
”Well, I'm not sure. But he's been on the air as long as I can remember.”
”What did he do before that?”
”Before that?”
”Yes. Before CTV.” This was harder than questioning George Dorsey.
”Let me think.” I heard a soft ticking, and pictured lacquered nails tapping the handset. ”I know the answer to this, Tempe, because Veronique told me. Veronique hosts a talk show on Radio-Canada now, interviews celebrities, but she started out doing the weather at CTV. Do you know her?”
”No.” My left eye was beginning to throb.
”She dated Lyle briefl-”
”I'm sure I've seen her.”
”I think she told me Lyle was hired away from an American newspaper. No. Wait, this is coming back to me.” Tick. Tick. Tick. ”It was a paper somewhere out west. Alberta, I think. But originally he comes from the States. Or maybe he went to school down there.”
”Do you know which state?”
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