Forty-one
Despite their eagerness to stick it to John Wilson and peripherally the Spear , the rest of the day was spent rechecking the house without success. They were in the dress room, hoping for a breakthrough, when Brent called. Wes put it on speaker.
Nadine took the opportunity to walk around the silver room as Wes went through a quick explanation of what happened with the Spear . Brent didn’t say anything much beyond “I see” and “They did what?” and “Holy shit, they did what ?”
“What a mess. I’m sorry that happened to you,” Brent said when Wes finished. “Do you think the Spear will get sued?”
“If they do, it could be bad news for their financial standing,” said Nadine. “Potentially very bad.”
“Really?” Brent sounded interested. “Will it be up for sale?”
“No idea,” said Wes, looking over to Nadine for help.
Nadine shrugged. She had to budget for a new pair of shoes. It wasn’t like she was in the market to buy a media outlet.
When Wes confirmed the story Tyler wrote was based on their actual finds, Brent’s intake of breath was audible. “The story is all true?”
“We think so,” said Wes. “The problem is we can’t prove a more direct connection from John Wilson to Dot, and we don’t have proof that he’s guilty. Only allegations and a manuscript.”
Brent made a disgusted noise. “It really grinds my gears that he’s getting away with this, especially if he also screwed over my aunt.”
“Us too,” said Wes. “We’re going to keep looking.”
“Well, I have faith in you, and so did Dot.”
They hung up. Seeing John Wilson parading around complacently assuring media the “lies and mistruths spread by the Spear will soon be put to rest thanks to my legal team” had reaffirmed Nadine’s commitment to taking him down. She wouldn’t let Dot be forgotten. Not that it was much of a risk, since the woman was one of the country’s most beloved authors, but it sounded good in her mind.
She glanced over at Wes, who was doing his best to keep positive and currently stood looking at the Victorian hair art on the wall, seemingly pleased with his lot of searching through a dead woman’s belongings. Nadine knew he was putting a good face on it. He occasionally came up to give her a kiss or simply hold her, and she was happy to comfort him. She suspected once he didn’t have Dot’s mystery to keep him busy, it would be much different. She had already decided to plan some fun dates to keep him occupied. Her online orders should be waiting at her apartment when she got home, and she prayed the packaging was discreet. And double prayed there were no more surprise parental visits.
Perhaps she could take that stripping album from the secret room too.
“Why don’t I get lunch and we can eat while we work?” Wes turned around and ran his hand through his hair. They were both sweaty messes. Thank God Wes had seen her during some questionable style choice eras, including the brief period she’d worn dresses over button-down shirts.
“Thanks,” she said, raising her face for his kiss. It was incredible how good he felt. She blew him another kiss as he left for the kitchen.
***
Hours later, they lay in Nadine’s fancy canopied bed after working off their frustration at finding nothing in the attic. It would have been gross had Wes not dampened a washcloth in cold water to run over Nadine’s sweaty skin. Wes was perfect, she thought as she returned the favor. Make that almost perfect, because when she dropped the washcloth on the side of the bed, promising to put it away later, he sighed, got out of bed, and returned it to the bathroom.
“It’ll make the sheets damp,” he said as he climbed back beside her. “I’m getting hungry, but I was thinking we work for…” His voice trailed off, and when Nadine looked over, it was to see him staring up.
“Wes?” She followed his gaze. The late afternoon sun had come in at the ideal angle to illuminate a dark outline on top of the bed’s pale yellow canopy, as if someone had stored a box or book.
They looked at each other.
It was very like Wes that he pulled on a pair of shorts before grabbing a chair to stand on. Nadine threw on her dress and stood on the bed itself, trying to feel what the rectangle was through the canopy. “It’s light,” she reported. “Not a book or a box. Maybe a newspaper.”
Wes swept his arms across, trying to reach it, but it wasn’t until Nadine poked the canopy from below that the object slid close enough for him to grab.
It was also like Wes that he put the chair away before coming to sit on the edge of the bed, treasure in hand. “It’s a letter,” said Wes. “From Allan to Dot. Undated.”
Nadine read it aloud.
My dear , it read.
I’ve been in Ottawa for a week, and my God, I can’t wait to get away. The men here are all blowhards, the kind who think talking is more important than doing, especially him. I wish with all my heart you’d let me do something to wipe that arrogant grin off his face.
But I respected your wishes even when I saw him across the room with his arm around a young woman who had a smile that might have been painted on. It got me thinking, though, about what we’ve spoken of so often.
This is the last time I bring it up, I swear. I don’t have many weeks left. But I must give one last try, although I know you’re stubborn as a mule and prefer to write out your grievances to work through them.
You need to let people know what kind of man he is. The back-scratching deal with White and what he did to you and others. All those people, all those lives. I know when you left, you were scared, but we have each other as protection against him and his threats, the ones from before you left and the ones from when your book came out.
Deep down, you know I’m right. I’ll say no more on this, not even when I’m back in Toronto. But think about what I’ve said. Wilson doesn’t deserve to enjoy his life, and you deserve to be free of his shadow.
With love,
Allan
She toppled back on the bed with the letter on her chest, and Wes joined her. “We have it,” she said in a faint voice. “What we needed to connect John Wilson with Dot Voline and the White Group. It’s here.”
“I knew we’d get it.” Wes hooked his leg over hers to bring her closer.
Nadine turned to lie on her side, facing Wes. “But it’s too late,” she said. “After what happened with the Spear , Daniel will want much more than a few letters. He’ll point out that there are thousands of Wilsons and Whites, and this letter is too vague.”
“This would have been enough if we’d been able to act before Tyler did,” said Wes. “This won’t cause the Spear to revisit the story either.”
They looked at the letter again. “He really loved her,” she said thoughtfully.
“She was lovable.”
“She was.”
“So that’s it.”
“Yeah. I think it is.”
They lay in bed, holding each other and watching the sun slowly travel across the window. They’d lost, and there was nothing left to say.
Then Nadine sat up. “No.”
“No what?”
“You said the other day that Dot put her faith in us. It’s not only Dot. Look at all the people Wilson has affected. Dot. Abigail. Monica. Ian, who had to find a new job. Probably Irina. All those people we found clippings about. Those towns who lost out because of his interference.”
“That’s all true but doesn’t change our situation.”
“ We can change our situation. You know what Dot would say if she saw us giving up?” She didn’t wait for Wes to reply. “She’d tell us to quit whining and use our heads. You were right. We only have one day here, but Dot’s house isn’t our only hope, and those clues she collected are just the beginning. She left that manuscript unfinished, and we’re going to add the final chapter.”
“We can do it,” said Wes. “Screw John Wilson.”
“Yeah, screw that guy!”
Erma poked her head up to meow her agreement, looking between them. “That’s it,” said Wes. “Attack cat Erma is on the case. Wilson has no chance.”
Somehow, they would get John Wilson. Not today and probably not tomorrow, but someday, thought Nadine. They owed it to Dot.