“Ah, so that’s how you know Frank Tomassini.”
Her eyes glinted. “It didn’t seem strange to you that a Mafia don had no problem hiring a woman? You have me to thank for his enlightened employment policy and, believe me, it took some work to bring him around. I spent a year pretending I was a man before I told him. When I did, he fired me…until he had a job no one else could do.”
“And hired you back.”
“Frank always said I was the best damned hitman he had, which I was-and which is why he probably jumped at the chance to hire another woman.”
“I guess I should say thanks.”
She snorted. “You’ll do better than that. You owe me, and I’m collecting.”
“I’d owe you if you got me the job. You made it possible, but you didn’t get it for me. That I did myself.”
“True, which begs the question. How the hell does a New York Mafia don find a Canadian girl living in the middle of the goddamned forest, and recruit her as a contract killer?”
I let out a small smile. “Fate.”
“That better not be all I’m getting. We have an hour left, and I expect to be entertained with a damn good story, especially considering what I’m offering in return.”
“Which is?”
Her gaze still on the windshield, she lifted her coffee cup to her lips, but not before letting an enigmatic smile slip out. “Questions answered, as I said. Specifically, one question for one question. A fair exchange of information, that mightiest of commodities.”
“And what information will I get?”
The smile tweaked the corners of her lips. “That depends on you. On what you want to know. For now, give me your story.”
I hesitated, but could see nothing in the tale that could satisfy more than idle curiosity. She could always find out through the Tomassinis. Better for me to give it, and take something in return, some knowledge or skill I could use.
So I began. “The offer came through Frank’s nephew, Paul…”
SIXTEEN
As for how Paul wound up at my lodge, that I do chalk up to fate. He’d come up with two of his cousins-also Tomassini wiseguys-for deer hunting season. They’d checked into a lodge 50 kilometers from the Red Oak. But the place hadn’t been up to Paul’s standards, and someone had recommended mine. He came, he liked, he stayed…even if he had to do his actual hunting off the property.
I figured out that they were Mafiosi pretty fast, but Paul and his cousins were quiet, well-mannered guests-better than those with the corporate team-building getaway I was hosting at the time-so I didn’t care. Deer season ended, and Paul booked a week for duck season. Then he reserved the deer season for next year. Paul’s cousins kept their distance from their ex-cop host, but Paul and I hit it off well-not friends, but friendly.
By his fourth visit, I could see foreclosure on the horizon and was scrambling to push it off a little further, but had finally come to realize I was only postponing the inevitable. My second life was about to crash-not as spectacularly as the first-but all the more devastatingly. I’d kept my problems to myself…until Paul tried booking his next visit, and I had to admit the lodge might not still be around.
The next day, when I was out back chopping wood, he’d appeared, looking dapper and well groomed even in a lumber jacket and jeans.
“Got another axe?” he asked.
I wiped sweat from my cheek and shook my head. “Just the one. Wouldn’t be good for liability.”
“Let me take a turn.” He flashed a grin. “Never know when axe-wielding might come in handy.”
I handed him the axe and showed him how to use it.
“I’ll grab the pieces as they fall,” I said. “Just watch my fingers.”
For a few minutes, he just cut wood, alternating between cursing and laughing. Guys like Paul swing moods like they swing axes, swiftly and decisively, the smiles no less sincere than the scowls.
“You want me to take over?” I asked.
A mock glower. “When I’m just getting the hang of it?” He swung and embedded the axe in the stump I used as a chopping block.
“Hate to see you lose the lodge, Nadia,” he said. “You work your ass off, and you’ve got a great setup here. It’s the damn economy. You just need a little cash, to get you past this.”
I nodded and grabbed the split pieces.
He wiped his brow, then pulled the axe out of the stump. “We might be able to help each other out. I have a problem that needs a solution, and I’m thinking maybe you could help with that.”
I felt his gaze on my back as I added the pieces to the woodpile. He waited until I turned, giving him my full attention.
“A couple of years back, we had this young man start work for us. My sister’s brother-in-law’s stepson. A tenuous connection but…” A shrug. “Still family.”
He put another log on the stump.
“The kid’s not with us six months and there’s trouble. An associate tells us he’s been roughing up whores, paying them with bruises. My uncle’s not happy but he thinks ‘Who knows how the kid was raised? He just needs to be set straight.’ So we set him straight. And it seemed to stop.”
Paul swung the axe, shaving a sliver off the next log.
“Seemed to stop…until the kid’s arrested for beating on a whore, and he’s not just using his fists anymore. Almost killed the girl. So my uncle’s furious, but still, the kid’s family, just needs help to make better choices.”
He swung again, taking off yet another slice.
“Kindling,” I said when he swore.
I picked up the pieces.
“You know what’s coming with this story, don’t you?” he said.
“I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
“We’re kicking ourselves for not seeing it. To a cop or shrink it’s probably obvious as hell. But us? We’re optimists. Always trying to see the good in people, their ability to change.”
I didn’t dare comment on that.
Paul continued. “So what happened, as you cops or shrinks might say, was your standard escalation of violence, and now we’ve got ourselves one dead whore and a kid who doesn’t seem to understand what he did wrong. After all, he says, she was only a whore.”
My hands tightened around the log I was holding.
“You and I both know it isn’t going to stop at one. My uncle, he knows that, too. He wants the matter resolved.” Paul put the axe down, headfirst, and leaned on the handle. “I’m thinking maybe you could help us with that.”
It’s a testament to my desperation that I even considered the offer. For all I knew, I was being set up. But at that point in my life, on the brink of losing everything, it was a chance I had to take.
When I finished, I drove for another five minutes before Evelyn reminded me that she now owed me an answer.
“I think I’ll save mine,” I said. “I don’t know what you can do, what you can teach me. When I find something, I’ll ask.”
“Professional knowledge?” She put her empty coffee cup in the holder. “Stop being so damned polite. When I offered information, I meant an exchange in kind. Personal for personal.”
“Something about you?”
“I suspect I don’t interest you that much. I’m an old woman whose sole importance is how I can help solve this case and what I can do for you professionally, and I don’t take any offense at that. But I’ll bet there’s someone you do want to know more about.” A small, unreadable smile. “Jack.”
I turned onto the off-ramp. “You’re offering me personal information on Jack?”
“Nothing too personal, of course. Ask me who he is or where he lives or how to find him when he doesn’t want to be found, and I’ll tell you to go to hell. But I can’t imagine you’d ask that, so the point is moot. What I can offer is some…smaller answers.”