A Sorrowful Sanctuary Page 6

  “Mrs. Enderby, you’ve outdone yourself!” he exclaimed. “And who are these lovely ladies?”

  “This is Mrs. Armstrong, who has first dibs, mind you, and her friend Miss Winslow, from up King’s Cove way. Councillor Lorimer. Running for mayor in the fall, if I’m not mistaken?”

  “For my sins,” said the councillor, smiling. “A quixotic bid, I’m afraid, but I thought it would be fun to try.” The councillor shook Eleanor’s hand and then lingered momentarily with Lane’s. “Mrs. Armstrong. Charmed. Miss Winslow. I don’t think I’ve seen you before?” Lane smiled politely. A puppy is just the thing to charm the voters, she thought uncharitably.

  Eleanor had moved to look at the puppies, something Lane now longed to do. “I don’t get up to town much,” she said.

  “But you’re English! How delightful. My mother, God rest her soul, was from Norwich. Married my dad after the Boer War and came out here. Have you come to get one of these beauties?”

  Pushing back an instinct to dislike the councillor, Lane smiled. He could, after all, be considered Darling’s boss if he was on the Nelson council. “No. Mrs. Armstrong is. But they are lovely. Very tempting, aren’t they?” She moved to where Eleanor was leaning over and petting the wiggling mass.

  “They’re completely endearing when they’re puppies. It seems unfair to break them up,” Eleanor said.

  “Kenny wouldn’t object to two, would he?” Lane asked, wondering how she herself would resist buying one.

  “I’m under the strictest orders. We’ve only ever had one. We are never away so he would never be lonely. They are terribly loyal and think they are one of your children.”

  “I’ve got my eye on one, Mrs. Armstrong. I’m crossing my fingers that it is not the same one that interests you,” Lorimer said jovially, making Lane jump a little because he was suddenly so near her, leaning in to look at the litter.

  As it happened, Eleanor was gazing at a puppy that was looking back at her as if she were its long-lost mother.

  “Ah!” exclaimed Mrs. Enderby. “That nice little bitch. I think she’s much the most intelligent. Look at those eyes. She already seems to know what you’re thinking! Will I keep her back for you?”

  “I think she’s the one. You hadn’t got your eye on her, had you, Councillor Lorimer?”

  “My dear lady, how perfect! I’m after that little fellow there.” Lorimer pointed at a puppy who was batting happily at one of his brother’s ears.

  “Wonderful. They’re ready to go. I’ve got some baskets here. I’ll need them back, mind.”

  Eleanor sighed contentedly. “Can you keep little Alexandra till we are on the way home? I’ve got to pick some things up, and Miss Winslow is taking me to luncheon at Lorenzo’s.”

  Lorimer, who had scooped up his puppy and was nuzzling it, looked up at them, smiling. “Ah. That dago restaurant. Good choice. They do food so well, don’t they, if you like that sort of thing. I haven’t been in since the war, but forgive and forget, eh? Might be time to go back.”

  Arrangements having been made to pick up the grandly named Alexandra, Lane and Eleanor were back on the road to Nelson. Lane was forcing herself to be happy about the new Armstrong family member but was quietly fuming about Lorimer’s casual offensiveness. Poor Lorenzo. Did he have to put up with a lot of that sort of thing? It reminded her of the worst of her insular, prejudiced species. “In spite of all temptations, to belong to other nations, he is an Englishman.” Of course, Gilbert and Sullivan were being slyly funny. Englishmen, she thought, generally had no temptation of that kind at all. Certainly not this councillor.

  “Alexandra is perfectly enchanting,” Lane said, “though I couldn’t help wishing your eye had landed on the one that dreadful man wanted.”

  Eleanor laughed. “I agree. That would have given some satisfaction. He’s in the papers all the time. Always cutting ribbons and smiling with businessmen. I’m not surprised he’s bucking for mayor.”

  “Well, then, I’m glad I don’t take the paper. I’ve been able to avoid reading about him. Presumably he’s not going for the Italian vote.”

  “Oh, that. Well, I’m afraid that sort of attitude is not uncommon around here. There’s a general distrust of ‘foreigners.’ He certainly had his eye on you!” Eleanor added.

  “Surely not. There must be a Mrs. Lorimer.”

  “There is. She appears from time to time standing next to him, gazing at him adoringly. But I bet when the camera is gone she’s anything but adoring. He has a bit of a reputation of being a man for the ladies. I don’t think having a missus would stop him, do you?”

  “What does he do, besides being a councillor?” If he has a business, I’ll make a point of avoiding it, Lane thought.

  “He inherited a small machinery factory and has been buying up other businesses as their owners retire or they look like they’re going belly up,” Eleanor said. “I mean, I only get this from the paper. I think the war was good to him.”

  I bet it was, Lane thought. “A man like that ought to pay more attention to his jacket. There were some threads pulled out of his lapel. You’d think he’d have a man of some sort to attend to that. Well, enough about him. He’s brought out the worst of my absolute pettiness. What do you want to do first, stop at the station or go to the pharmacy?”

  “Oh, do let’s stop at the station first. I’d love to see it, and I want to know about that young man.”

  O’Brien greeted them affably. It was still a bit difficult for him to shake the memory of Lane having been a prisoner at the station the summer before, but she was a looker and he supposed she must be all right, because she seemed familiar with the inspector. He was on the phone to let the inspector know they were at the desk, but this thought about Lane and the inspector caused him to look up at her with sudden interest. Could they . . .? “Righty-o, sir.” He hung up the phone. “Inspector Darling will be right down.”

  Darling led them to his office, where he’d placed a third chair, purloined from Ames’s office next door.

  “So this is where you do all your brilliant police work!” Eleanor said. “Kenny will be beside himself that I have seen the inner sanctum!”

  “Police work is more drudgery than brilliance, I’m afraid, Mrs. Armstrong,” Darling said, pulling the chair out for her. Could Lane look more provokingly beautiful? he wondered. “Miss Winslow.” He held her chair, longing to touch her, and then went around to his side of the desk.

  “We don’t want to take any of your time, Inspector, but I am wondering about the young man. Miss Winslow did call me last night after she spoke with you and said he was still hanging on.”

  “I haven’t heard otherwise. We’re hoping he will be able to speak to us soon. We need to find out how he got into that state.” So as not to alarm Mrs. Armstrong, he resisted talking about a murderous individual still being at large.

  “I’m so glad. I am being taken to lunch at an Italian place, and I shall be able to enjoy my lunch so much better now. We are celebrating. I have just bought a new west highland puppy. We’ll be picking her up on the way back.”

  “How splendid,” Darling said, imagining a domestic scene with himself and Lane, and a west highland, whatever that was, romping around on her lawn. “Lorenzo will certainly be happy to see you,” he added, turning to Lane.

  “I’ll give him your best,” Lane said. “Anyway, it’s you he truly loves.”

  “Everybody seems to love Miss Winslow,” Eleanor said. “You should have seen that smarmy councillor ogling her at the mansion.”

  “What smarmy councillor was that?” Darling asked, smiling brightly.

  “You know, that Lorimer man. It’s a bit disturbing that he’s a fellow west highland fancier, I can’t help thinking.”

  “Is he indeed?” Darling asked evenly, looking at Lane with raised eyebrows. He would have liked to
comment, but didn’t feel he could in front of Mrs. Armstrong, that he did indeed know of Lorimer and had more than once wondered how close to the lines he coloured in his business interests.

  “I imagine he does very well by his constituents. He has a most charming smile,” Lane said. “And an ascot. Now I think we’d best be off. Eleanor is replenishing her first aid kit, and it’s getting on for lunchtime.”

  Lorenzo, whose restaurant was near the bottom of the hill sloping down to the railway station, was delighted to see Lane coming through the door. “Miss Winslow! Benvenuto to you and this lovely lady. If you wait only one moment, I will prepare this table by the window for you.” A quiet babble of conversation came from the other diners, a mixture of men from the railway and local mills, and office workers from town. Lorenzo’s had been virtually shunned during the war because of anti-Italian feeling, but business had since picked up.

  “Good afternoon, Lorenzo. May I present Mrs. Armstrong? She has heard me talk so much about your wonderful restaurant that I thought I’d better bring her along.”

  “Dear lady, I hope you will not be disappointed,” Lorenzo said. “Un momento.”

  “It smells lovely,” said Eleanor, while Lorenzo put a new tablecloth on the table by the window.

  “It is lovely. And if he is true to form, you mustn’t expect to get a menu. His wife always has some daily special, and she’s a divine cook. He’s very keen on Inspector Darling. Treats him like royalty.”

  “He’s clearly very keen on you,” Eleanor commented.

  “It’s just being in Darling’s wake. I’ve been here a few times with him. Oh, no! Now what is he doing here?” What caused this exclamation of dismay was seeing Councillor Lorimer approaching the restaurant with a young man in a suit and an expensive hat. Lorimer pushed open the door and looked critically around the restaurant, and then focused on Lane and Eleanor.

  “Well, I never. Twice in one day! Ladies, how are we?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to his companion and said, “Go bag that table would you? I want to talk to these ladies for a moment.”

  With rising anger, Lane watched as the young man moved through the restaurant and pulled out a chair at the table Lorenzo had prepared for them. She was about to say something when she heard Lorenzo remonstrating with the young man.

  “No, no, signor. Excuse me, please. This table is already taken. It is for these ladies, you see. I have another table over there, yes?” He pointed across the room to a table in the corner. Other diners had begun to notice and were now watching.

  “They can sit there, then,” the young man said, removing his hat and throwing it onto the middle of the table. He pushed the chair back onto two legs and looked out the window, as if Lorenzo would disappear if he stopped looking at him.

  Lorenzo, unsure of how to move forward without causing a further scene, looked flummoxed.

  As if he had only just that moment understood what the problem was, Lorimer exclaimed, “Oh, dear. I am sorry, ladies. I assumed you were on your way out. But of course, you must have your table! I shall ask my secretary to move this instant.” He wove a path through the other diners, smiling and nodding, and leaned in to say something to the young man. The chair thumped down and the younger man took up his hat, a momentary flash of anger distorting his face.

  “Beg pardon, ladies,” he said with a pasted-on smile as he passed them on the way to the table by the wall. Lane was sure she just caught his muttered “Bloody Itie” as he took his seat.

  Lorenzo gave his head the tiniest shake when Eleanor and Lane were seated. Smiling, he leaned forward as if to take their order. “My country was full of these men. It is why we left,” he whispered. “Certainly, right away,” he said out loud.

  “Well,” said Eleanor, “I never.”

  Lorenzo had gone into the kitchen and returned with two menus, which he took to Lorimer’s table. He winked as he passed Lane. She watched him conferring with Lorimer and the young man, nodding and writing something on his note pad. Lorenzo glanced back toward the window table and nodded.

  “The gentlemen would like to offer you wine as an apology for the table mix-up. I could open the most expensive bottle I have. It would give me great pleasure.”

  “So kind,” Lane murmured. She looked toward the two men and smiled. “Do thank them so much, but I should drive back up the lake immediately after lunch.”

  “And I don’t drink,” Eleanor said, not being entirely truthful.

  A bell sounded from the kitchen. Lorenzo disappeared and returned with two large shallow bowls of something intoxicating. “It is bigoli with duck. A traditional dish of the Veneto. My wife is from there. By a miracle there were two servings left!”

  “Miracle indeed,” said Eleanor with a giggle when Lorenzo had retired.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Right, Amesy, saddle up. I told Miss Winslow we’d be out this afternoon to have another look at that rowboat, and I’d like to stop and talk to that Van Eyck who owns the garage Carl Castle works at.”

  Ames closed the sergeant’s study manual he was reading and stretched. “If O’Brien did this, surely to God I can.”

  “O’Brien is smarter than he looks. He’s quite a dab hand at the crosswords,” Darling said, putting on his hat. The day had become hot, and on the street below people were cowering in the thin line of shade provided by the overhangs and awnings of the shops. Darling had taken his jacket off and slung it over his shoulder in a rare moment, Ames thought, of dapper casualness.

  It was nearing four when the maroon Ford pulled up in front of the Van Eyck garage, which was a mile past the Balfour store, perched just above the lake. The policemen got out of the car and went toward the open bay of the garage, where a car was up on a hoist and another had its hood up. Someone in overalls was leaning into the engine and making a clanging sound. “Bloody plugs!”

  They were both surprised that the voice was that of a young woman, who stood up and wiped her brow with her forearm, a wrench still in her hand.

  “Gentlemen? We’re backed up for a couple of days till Friday if you want your car fixed.”

  Darling shook his head and showed his card. “We’re looking for Mr. Van Eyck.”

  The woman, in her mid-twenties Ames calculated, took the card, looked at it, and then handed it back. “I’m his daughter, Tina. Is this about that Castle kid? I heard he’s AWOL.”

  “Yes, actually. Do you know anything?”

  “Nah. He was pretty cut up about getting laid off. Made a big fuss, said it wasn’t fair. A bit rude about me. Only fair, I guess. I’m the one who took his job.”

  “Oh,” said Darling. He was surprised Mrs. Castle hadn’t mentioned that her son had been let go. “How’s that?”

  “Simple. I worked as a mechanic in England during the war, and when I should have come home, I stayed on because I was going to get married . . . that was a bust! Anyway, I just got home, and Dad grilled me on my mechanical skills and thought he could save a bit if I did the work instead of someone else he had to hire.” She laughed. “Pays me a lot less, I can tell you!”

  “When did you last see Mr. Castle?” Ames asked.

  “A few days ago, on Friday. He came in for work, and Dad gave him the bad news. Gave him two weeks wages, though. Dad likes the kid, if the truth be known. But Dad has to watch his bottom line. Told him if business picked up, he’d happily hire him back. Suggested Castle should go up to Kaslo. With the mines and the mills there ought to be plenty of automotive work. But the kid wasn’t hearing it. It wasn’t fair, bloody women taking jobs that belong to men, et cetera, et cetera. Honestly, I did feel bad for him. I think he supports his mom. Anyway, he climbed into that yellow car of his and stormed off. That’s the last time I saw him.”

  “Do you know any of his friends?” Darling asked.

  “A kid like that? Nah. Anyway, I’
ve been away. Things went west for me in the old country, so I came home. There ought to be a permanent mark on a man’s forehead so you can tell if he’s already married!”

  Ames bumped the car down the rutted drive to the chicken farm. Mrs. Castle was outside with a bucket and turned to watch them approach. Her anxiety showed on her face.

  “Any news?”

  “Nothing on our end, I’m afraid. I need to get the licence number of the car, if you’ve found it. We’ve been to the garage to make inquiries. Did you know he’d been let go?”

  Mrs. Castle put the bucket down. “What? Why would he be let go?”

  “Mr. Van Eyck’s daughter came home and she’s a mechanic. It was cheaper to keep it in the family. I’m now wondering if he simply drove off in search of another job. Maybe he’s planning on making a reappearance when he’s landed one,” Darling said.

  “A woman! It’s shocking.” Mrs. Castle sat heavily on the stairs leading up to her front door. “My poor boy! How can any self-respecting woman put a hard-working man out of a job? I ought to go give her a piece of my mind. It’s unnatural.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Let’s focus on finding Carl. We’ll need to get the licence plate. He’s got the car; he’s somewhere out on the road. The Mounties are bound to catch sight of it. He has two weeks’ pay on him. I expect he didn’t want to come home without a job.”