"What are you, her lover? I didn't think she had time for men."
"I'm an investigator."
"Working for who?"
"Maya's mother."
"Marilyn? Another not-so-favourite person. So do I bill her for the broken window or you?"
"Tell him to split, Nina," Perry said. "You don't want your muscles to stiffen up."
"Maybe I want to see his stiffen up," she said. "He's kind of cute, you have to admit."
She was a wearing a form-fitting, canary-yellow tank top over spandex pants. She put her hands on her hips, cocked one hip and thrust her chest out. Her figure was nothing short of magnificent, possibly even natural. But she did nothing for me. If eyes are the window of the soul, hers would have been papered over with signs saying Room for Rent.
"Come on. On your way," Perry said. As he came toward me, he slammed his fist into the heavy bag, sending it into a wide circle. Maybe I should have cringed with terror or wet myself. But hitting a bag is a lot easier than hitting a trained fighter who is getting more annoyed by the minute.
"Call him off, Nina," I said.
"You've got to be kidding," she grinned.
I sighed and waited for Perry to throw a punch. I didn't want to disable the guy for doing what he thought he ought to be doing, if indeed a thought had flitted through his head. He put up his hands and tried a left jab, which I blocked easily, then a right cross, which I slipped. While he was thinking about his next move, I slapped him across the face.
"Back off," I told him. "No reason for you to get hurt."
"You bitch," he said. "I'm gonna tear you ap-"
I slapped him again. Both his cheeks were flaming red. He came after me again. I blocked everything he threw and kept slapping him.
"Don't you ever close a fist?" Nina complained.
"Call him off," I said again.
"Why? Maybe you'll train me from now on."
Someone should have trained her a long time ago, in the art of human decency. Or at least keeping her yap shut.
Perry tried to kick me in the groin. This I took personally. I shifted to sidekick position and stomped his shin as it rose toward me. He howled in pain and dropped to the floor, clutching his leg.
"That could have been your knee," I said. "You'd be looking at total reconstruction."
"Oh my God," he moaned. "You fucking asshole, you."
"You're welcome," I said. "Now please go away and let me and the lady talk."
He looked at Nina, who shook her head and grabbed a towel that was hanging on the handlebars of the treadmill and threw it at him. "Go on, Perry," she said. "Dry your eyes and beat it."
He pulled himself up and gave me his best death stare. Not quite Dave Stewart in his Oakland prime, but not half bad.
"Wait here," she said to me.
She helped Perry gather up his things and escorted him out the French doors. I heard him say something to her; I heard her laugh at him in response. I guess she had no salt to rub in his wounds. "So you're an investigator?" Nina said. "Got a gun?"
"We don't carry guns," I said. I still had a Beretta Cougar hidden in my apartment-a present from Dante Ryan-but hadn't so much as looked at it since last summer's crisis had ended.
"And what exactly are you investigating?"
"Why Maya Cantor died."
"Isn't it kind of obvious? She threw herself off a twelfth-storey balcony."
"Why she did it, then."
"And you're asking me? What, did you run out of other people?"
"Kind of."
"I barely knew the girl," Nina said. "She didn't come around much. I got the feeling she didn't approve of me. Go figure."
"She was here the night she died."
"Yeah, Rob invited her and Andrew for dinner. Not exactly Brad and Angelina as company goes, but they were his kids so I went along."
"I heard there was a disagreement."
"From who, Marilyn?"
"Yes."
"The first Mrs. Cantor," she said, twirling a permed blonde curl around her index finger. "You can see why he got tired of her. I mean, besides her age. Rob might be older than me but he's young at heart. She's, like, fifty at least and looks it."
Personally, I had found Marilyn to be an engaging, naturally attractive woman. Nina was admirable in the way thoroughbreds are, with a glossy mane and highly toned muscles, but she had all the class of a hyena tearing at a carcass.
"About that night…"
"Look," she said. "Maya could be very-what's the word I'm looking for-judgmental. She had a way of letting you know what you were doing was all wrong. Me, for instance. I threw a wine bottle into the trash instead of the recycling bin and she goes over and takes it out of the trash and puts it in the bin. Okay, so maybe I should be more conscientious about that stuff, but really, in the end, it's one fucking bottle. Who gives a shit, right? No, she has to put on the big show. Never says a word to me even, just plucks it out of here and puts it into there. Disapproval all the way."
"Why was she mad at Rob? Was it something to do with the Harbourview project?"
"Why would she be mad about that?" "Because of its impact on the environment." Nina rolled her eyes and drained her sparkling water. "It is so easy for some people to get all worked up about their causes. Their big issues. It makes me laugh, I swear. Where did she think she'd be without Rob's money? You think Maya paid for her apartment or her car or her trips down south with her friends at March Break? If it wasn't for Rob's new building, or his other buildings for that matter, she'd have been living at home and getting around on the TTC. Buying clothes at Honest Ed's."
"But that is what they argued about?" "I couldn't tell you. I wasn't in the room at the time." "Andrew said you were. In the den, I believe." "What is this, Clue? Nina in the den with a candlestick? Yeah, we had a few words. I told you, she didn't like me. She was still pissed off that Rob left Marilyn. Christ, you'd think she'd have gotten over it already. She wasn't a little girl, you know. She was a grown-up woman, barely ten years difference between her and me. As for what she and Rob fought about, I couldn't tell you. I wasn't there."
"Where were you?"
"In the kitchen," she said with a lazy smirk. "Taking the wine bottle out of the recycling and putting it back in the trash."
CHAPTER 14
What is it about men that causes them to lose their minds at mid-life? How could Rob Cantor ditch an intelligent, down-to-earth woman-not to mention the mother of his children-for someone like Nina, who had all the depth of a pie plate? Why hadn't he simply gone out and bought a Porsche or a vintage Stratocaster or gotten a tattoo?
Mind you, my uncle Phil-my late father's youngest brother-bought a Miata convertible for his fiftieth birthday and had it all of three weeks before he drove it into the back of a dump truck on Major Mackenzie Boulevard. Three surgeries and nearly a dozen skin grafts later, he was back behind the wheel of a sedan, where he belonged.
I was thinking about this as I walked up the path beside the house-how a man must feel when he realizes the lines on his face are only going to get deeper, that his muscle tone, sex drive and hairline are only going to diminish-when I heard footsteps coming up fast behind me. I turned just in time to duck the swipe of a garden spade swung at my head by Nina's trainer. The sharp edge of the spade struck the wall of the house, sending bits of mortar flying.
"Think you can push me around?" Perry snarled. His cheeks were still red from the slaps I'd dealt him. He hefted the spade and advanced on me. "Think you can fucking embarrass me?"
"I already did, Perry."
"Fucking smartass. Let's see how smart you talk without any teeth in your head."
He drew the spade back and swung it at my head like a right-handed batter. The backswing gave me time to move in on him, my head down, my right hand up to protect my face. The wooden shaft of the shovel hit the meaty part of my left arm, up along the bicep. On impact, I wrapped my right arm around his, trapping the spade, spun backwards and delivered a left elbow strike to his chin. As his head snapped back, I spun again and followed up with a knee to his gut, doubling him over. I slammed my elbow down onto his neck and he dropped to the ground.