Fifteen
Nadine leaned over the steering wheel as they approached the mansion. She’d been impatient to talk to Dot today, not only because of the story but to see her. She liked Dot. Dot Voline was one of a kind.
When she’d gone home last week, the first thing she did was look up the obit Dot had mentioned of the baker with the best buns in town. The story had whetted her curiosity, and she’d clicked through several major newspapers, reading through recent obituaries to analyze the differences between their obits and those of the Herald . She was halfway through the fourth one when she realized she’d stopped reading with a professional eye and was reading for pleasure. She wanted to know about the woman who had run a community theater with people who had recently been released from prison and then about the man who had only received a pittance for recording one of Motown’s songs of the century. She hadn’t felt the same about the Herald ’s obits, which always gave her the sense of reading a history textbook in preparation for a test and generally featured affluent white men over the age of seventy.
It would be interesting to talk to Dot more about obits. And life. And, hopefully, the secret she wanted them to know.
Beside her, Wes laughed with anticipation. “This is it,” he said. “This is the day she tells us.”
She hoped so, because apart from her blossoming interest in obituaries, her week had been shit, with Lisanne talking nonstop about her new investigation. At least it was less tense with Wes, although other concerns had leaked in. When he’d come out this morning looking better than usual, that tiny, minuscule crush she’d harbored when they’d first met years ago had made an unwelcome reappearance. She’d be wise to remember they were still competitors, and hot though Wes was, they weren’t compatible as people.
The gate opened as if they were expected—strange, since every visit so far had started by reintroducing themselves at the intercom—and Nadine felt Wes’s eyes on her.
“Did you do that?” he asked.
“How? I was sitting right here in the car with you.”
“I don’t know. Maybe Dot sent you the code.”
“Did you see me put in a code?”
Still bickering, they drove up to the house and parked.
“Feels different,” Wes said in a low voice.
He was right, but she refused to believe anything could stop them so close to their goal. Nadine peered ahead to the black Porsche SUV parked behind Dot’s hot-pink Bentley. “I don’t recognize that car,” she said.
Wes was watching the main door as it slowly opened. “That’s Brent.”
Nadine saw her knuckles go white on the steering wheel.
Wes reached over. “Let’s go talk to him,” he said, giving her hand a slight tug. “It might not be anything.”
They got out of the car. Brent stood on the top step, hands in his pockets and leaning back on his heels as he waited.
“Is everything okay?” called Nadine as they approached, trying to keep her voice normal.
“Let’s talk inside,” said Brent. His eyes were red, and Nadine was horrified to find her first reaction was Wow, if Dot is dead, this is really bad timing for this story .
Shameful. She was an awful fucking human being. She could never tell Wes.
The house seemed hollow, without even the cats sliding out of their hiding places. When they came into the empty salon, Nadine knew for sure, and Wes’s soft exhale said he’d come to the same conclusion.
It was still a shock when Brent said, “My aunt passed away Friday. I wanted to tell you in person.”
“I’m sorry.” She and Wes spoke in a chorus.
Brent gave them a brief smile. “Thank you for asking Maria to call me. She can be protective and sometimes didn’t want to face the reality of my aunt’s health. But it meant we were able to spend her last days together.”
Everything Nadine thought of saying sounded like a platitude. She’d been an obituary editor, for crying out loud. Dealing with the aftermath of death was her wheelhouse.
But it was different if you knew the person.
As if hearing her mental plea for help, Wes rose to the occasion. “We’re incredibly sorry for your loss. We were only able to know Dot briefly, but she was an extraordinary woman.”
“Thank you.” Brent ran his hand along the velvety chair arm. “You know, she loved your visits. She said your youth made her remember all the mistakes she made and the ones she wished she had.”
Nadine remembered something Brent might enjoy hearing. “She told me she dressed in bright clothes to chase off the men who only wanted sparrows. Then she suggested I go shopping.”
Brent laughed loud enough to cause one of the cats—Erma, Nadine thought—to race out from under the chair where she’d been hiding. “When I first moved to Toronto, we had dinner plans. She took one look at my sleek little suit and said if I insisted on dressing like an undertaker, I needed to look like one with pizzazz. She brought me to Hermès and bought me a dozen pocket squares. I still wear them.”
This time, they all joined the laughter, the sound eventually trailing out into the silence of the room. “Will there be a funeral?” asked Wes, who then flinched as if he’d said the wrong thing.
“Only for family.” Brent raised his eyebrows at Nadine. “As an aside, the Herald has declined to run another obituary for my aunt.”
Nadine frowned. “What?”
“They very kindly said I was welcome to take out a paid death notice.” He shot Wes a sly look. “However, her publisher said the Spear was eager to run one.”
That couldn’t be right. She pulled out her phone and texted Raj as the conversation continued. Is it true you won’t run an obit for Dot Voline?
His reply came quick. Daniel said once was our usual limit for obits .
That asshole. She was angry on Dot’s behalf, although the thought of running another version of what had been in the files didn’t sit well with her. Dot was so much more than those dates and book titles. Then Brent cleared his throat, and she put away regrets of Dot’s obit. “There’s something I want to discuss with you. She didn’t tell you her story, did she?”
“No. I suppose it dies with her,” said Wes with what Nadine considered admirable restraint.
“Or not. She gave me a message for you. Come with me for a second?”
Nadine exchanged a confused glance with Wes, then followed Brent into the library, where he climbed up to the second level. After fumbling with the edge of one of the shelves, a loud click sounded, and an entire bookcase opened inward.
Wes’s gasp of utter delight made Nadine smile despite the blue news of Dot’s death. “A hidden room?” he said.
Brent groped around for what Nadine assumed was a light switch. “Not quite a hidden room ,” he said. “Ah, there it is. This place is a maze of secrets. My aunt’s filing was incomprehensible to anyone but her. I once found her recipe box in a closet. Apparently she kept it there because it was a box and boxes belonged in closets. I have no idea.”
Dim lights flickered on to reveal an attic space straight out of every creepy movie imaginable. Dust sat thick on boxes randomly distributed in piles. Windows along the back wall might let in light on sunny days but now added to the gloom. Large metal filing cabinets that looked like they originated in a Bletchley Park code-breaking hut loomed near the far wall, and Nadine wouldn’t have been surprised to see a skeleton lurking in the corner.
“These are my aunt’s,” said Brent with an expansive wave. “She hated throwing things out, as you could probably tell.”
Wes checked a nearby box. “These are foreign language editions of her books.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. She only kept a single copy of each of her books in the library. I don’t know what’s up here, to be honest.”
“Why are you showing us?” asked Nadine. Her nose tickled, and she sneezed three times in a row. “Sorry. Dust.”
“My aunt wanted whatever she was hiding to be known, but she ran out of time.” Brent looked at the disarray. “She asked me to tell you she was sorry to have missed your meeting due to an unavoidable appointment with her maker and to show you how to get in here.”
“You want us to continue looking?” Wes asked slowly, as if trying to understand what Brent was getting at.
“No,” Brent corrected. “Dot does. She said to get your hands dirty and keep your eyes open so you can finish the job.”
“We weren’t having much success without her,” Nadine said. “I’m not sure that would change.”
“You didn’t have access to the house before,” said Brent, nudging a box with his foot.
“There must be thousands of documents here.” Nadine felt faint.
“You don’t need to categorize them,” Brent assured them. “My aunt’s literary executor has everything of value, and this is all getting shredded in three weeks to prepare for the house sale.”
“Three weeks?” asked Wes.
Nadine silently agreed. There was enough here to keep them busy for a year.
“I wish I could give you longer, but that’s all I can spare,” said Brent with regret. “The upkeep on this place is expensive, and I’ve got a buyer for the property that I can’t risk losing, not in this market. If it helps, you can live in the house.”
“You trust us to live here alone?” asked Nadine.
“Dot did and I need someone to feed the cats. Maria didn’t want to stay with my aunt gone.” Brent looked at them. “Also, I could be wrong, but you two don’t strike me as the kind to turn this place into a party house.”
His phone rang with a little ditty that sounded like MC Hammer, and he excused himself to take the call, moving into the library and leaving Wes and Nadine alone in the attic. She turned around one more time. She wanted to do this. She wanted to know what Dot was hiding. She wanted to explore the secrets of this attic, and she wanted to do right by Dot.
She turned to Wes, who had walked away as if looking at the attic from another angle would make it more manageable. “Hey, Wes?”
Wes came out from behind a cabinet. “I think you mean Detective Chen, Agent Barbault.”
She opened her mouth to protest him getting to be the detective but decided Agent Barbault had a nice ring. “Looks like we’re on the case.”
He grinned at her and put on the voice of an old noir gumshoe. “We’ve got a dame with a past and an attic that’s our future.”
Nadine tried not to laugh. She really did.
She failed.