I went to that familiar place
Where all the damaged children go,
So deep inside myself
Even the shadows couldn’t find me.
Hope carried no roadmap to that place.
Forty days and forty nights, and at the end
My eyes opened to see, unbelievably,
The sun still shone, unaware of my darkness.
11 - Tiny Pieces
Inspector Jack Brown closed the book and placed it on the table. He’d taken Highway 400 back to the city. Although he was hungry, he didn’t stop along the way.
Jess was the first to admit she wasn’t known for her cooking. Still, when he looked across the dinner table he wanted to see her face.
“A sad woman,” Jess said, pointing at the book.
“Um-hmm.” Jack studied Leda Maguire’s photo on the cover. Although the smile was self-assured, it didn’t carry to the eyes. In his experience, the eyes were a dead giveaway.
“I remember the case,” Jess said. “She looked quite different.”
“She was just a girl then, as I recall.”
“She looked traumatised in all the photos. I remember wondering how she would live through it. I should have known. 21st Century therapy: Lose your family, write a book.”
“She seems like a nice lady."
“Do you think she was involved in Lowry’s death?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said. “She seemed surprised, but she keeps her emotions under wrap. Also, there’s that bit about the lost photo of Lowry.”
“Her agent took it with her iPhone?”
“That’s right. Maggie Landers said it was a clear shot of our victim. When I asked to see it, Leda couldn’t produce it. She claimed it was inadvertently deleted from the file. I took the phone into evidence. We'll see if the lab can restore the photo.”
“What does her bodyguard say? She must be out of a job, now that Lowry’s dead.”
“Helen Strachan… I know her. She didn’t remember me, but we met at a conference a couple of years ago. She’s got a good reputation. Bit of a ball-breaker, though.”
Jess smiled.
“You mean she didn’t offer to bake you a cake?”
“Not hardly! Good looking girl, but tall, one of those muscle-bound women, with biceps out to here. I wouldn’t want to piss her off.”
“Strong enough to take a man down with a single blow to the head?”
“Oh, yeah.” Jack lifted the book in his hand and turned it over. Two Good Hands…a great title. He’d skimmed some pages before supper, just enough to gather a few tiny pieces of the author’s soul. He planned to read the rest that evening, while Jess was watching her shows.
He checked the inscription one more time: For Jack and Jessica Brown, from Leda Maguire. The writer's hand was firm, letters well-sculpted and leaning forward at a uniform angle, with only the slightest flourish. The hand of a self-assured woman who had nothing to hide….
He measured the spine one more time – exactly 2.2 centimetres – a perfect match for the three books that were missing from Robert Lowry’s shelf.
***
Rhonda Copps put the phone down none too gently and stepped into the bathroom. She studied her face in the mirror. Even without makeup, she was a good-looking woman.
She felt a familiar rage rising in her gut. Measuring it, she walked into the living room. Her eyes scanned the area, looking for something – anything – that she wouldn’t miss. Finally she spotted a glass-encased scented red pillar, the same candle she’d lit the last time she and Hamish were together.
She lifted the ornament and held it for a moment, letting her fury build to a climax before striking the glass against the table’s surface. It shattered, leaving no mark on the smooth black surface.
Rhonda studied the palm of her hand, unsure why it was bleeding. She felt no pain, only the frustration of anger poorly spent. The red pillar candle remained in one piece, lying in a puddle of sparkling shards.
Calming herself, she covered the wound on her right hand before blood could drop onto her ivory-coloured carpet. In the bathroom, she ran water over the wound and cleansed it with alcohol. When it was properly bandaged, she fetched her vacuum cleaner from the closet.
She gathered the larger chunks of glass, using the machine to clean up the tiny pieces.
***
Maggie Landers made a note in her planner. She wouldn’t mention the phone call to Leda. Her client had enough on her plate, with the death of Robert Lowry.
Maggie had her own opinion on that subject. Lowry had been a creep, a full-time stalker, moving from one victim to the next. He’d gotten exactly what he deserved.
Still, she knew his death was going to upset her friend. Leda had a good heart, despite everything she’d been through. She thought the best of people, even when it was clear they intended to use her.
Leda had that golden trait that is so rare: she walked through life with blinders on, constantly giving away pieces of herself to anyone in need and never asking for anything in return.
Maggie Landers bore no such illusions regarding the human capacity for malice. She shook her head and looked at the phone. Why was Rhonda Copps so anxious to speak with Leda? Why wouldn’t she leave a message for the author with Maggie, like everyone else did?
It was bad enough Maggie had revealed Leda’s whereabouts to the Inspector. That was a police matter – she’d had no choice.
When it came to anyone else, though, Maggie knew better than to give out her client’s contact information. The only thing Leda had ever asked of Maggie was that she respect her privacy. She intended to do just that.
Rhonda had been persistent, demanding to know how she could reach Leda directly. When she’d told her she was not at liberty to divulge any information regarding her client, the professor had slammed down the phone without another word.
Maggie didn’t know what game Professor Copps was playing, but she was messing with the wrong crazy literary agent.
Maggie had a policy of her own. She didn’t take crap from anyone.
_______________________________
TUNE IN NEXT WEEK, FOR VOLUME 12 OF "TWO GOOD HANDS", a Leda And Strachan mystery!
Copyright belongs to Donna Carrick. No part of this story may be reproduced without the written consent of the author.
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