grasped then kissed Hollis’s hand.
Latin men did that in movies, but it seemed a little over the top in a Toronto living room.
“Charmed,” he said with a heavy Spanish accent and a smile that revealed teeth so white, they had to be capped.
He made Hollis think of matadors or gigolos—handsome and fully aware of their effect on women.
“Darling,” Poppy said in a low, throaty voice, bending down and opening her arms to Elizabeth.
“Poppy,” Elizabeth trilled. No Grandma or Nana for this exotic creature.
After a big exchange of hugs and kisses, the two moved to the slip-covered cream cotton sofas. The couches sat at right angles to one another with a long, rectangular black leather bench in front of them. Elizabeth hoisted herself onto Poppy’s knee and snuggled ever closer as she moved the bracelets up and down on Poppy’s arm.
Conversation swirled from the unseasonable weather to the possibility of an election before Candace pulled an ottoman over to face her mother.
“Poppy,” she said, “I’m worried about Danson. Do you have any idea where he is?”
“Darling, you worry too much. Danson is a grown man. If he goes off for a few days, it isn’t anything to fuss about. There is something I want to ask you.”
Candace shifted on the ottoman and waited.
“Were you in my apartment recently?”
“No. Why?”
“I saved a section of Saturday’s Globe from two weeks ago, and I’ve misplaced it.”
Hollis would have pegged Poppy as a Sun or a Star reader. The Saturday entertainment section must be the attraction.
Poppy toyed with a dangling earring. “I’m sometimes forgetful, but I’m sure I didn’t throw it out. I thought you might have picked it up.”
“I didn’t. Danson’s in your apartment all the time. He cares for your plants. Perhaps he took it or tidied up before he went wherever he’s gone,” Candace said coldly.
Poppy, ignoring Candace’s comment, directed her next remark to Hollis. “Darling Danson. I owned masses of gorgeous, expensive artificial flowers and plants and my darling son objected. He said silk plants were totally déclassé.” She tossed her head, and the swinging red hair caught the light. It’s glory reminded Hollis of the shampoo commercials in which hair was impossibly shiny and beautiful.
“As if I cared,” Poppy continued. “Anyway, I refused to replace them with real ones, because I knew, absolutely knew, that they’d die. Darling Danson said he’d help me buy real ones and look after them. He’s been as good as his word.” She frowned. “My poor plants—without Danson around to attend to them.”
She focused on Candace. “But why would you suggest that Danson would take it? Do you have a copy of the Globe?”
Candace shook her head. “The recycling pickup was Wednesday. Sorry. “
“Darling, it isn’t that important, but I am worried about my plants.”
Looking at Candace’s fists and white knuckles, Hollis feared her friend would launch an attack on her mother. Instead, Candace slumped back and sighed. “Poppy, the plants are in self-watering containers. They’ll be fine, but if it will make you happy, I’ll come and tend them.”
Poppy clearly expected those close to her to bail her out of difficulties. Candace had performed the role since she was seven and continued to do so.
“Thank you, darling.”
Given the exchange and Danson’s disappearance shortly after his visit to Poppy’s apartment chances were good the paper was significant, Hollis thought. Did she have Saturday’s paper? Not likely. She’d dragged out a clear green plastic bag for recycling and was sure the paper was gone. Even if they found a copy, how would they know what they were searching for unless Poppy ’fessed up, and that seemed unlikely.
Poppy shrugged, slanted forward and peered down. “Elizabeth, darling, are those new shoes?”
Elizabeth stuck a foot out to allow Poppy to admire her shoe.
“It’s time to eat before Elizabeth has a major meltdown,” Candace said.
In the dining room, Candace fastened a large plastic bib around Elizabeth’s neck and anchored her in her high chair. MacTee settled underneath, ready to catch any morsels dropped or thrown his way.
The adults helped themselves. After Candace assured herself that everyone had what he or she needed, she said, “Poppy, what section of the paper did you save?”
Hollis smiled. Exactly what they needed to know.
Poppy waved a finger in front of her lips to indicate her mouth was full. Finally, she said, “The financial pages. Something triggered an idea for a contact for costumes. I can’t remember what it was.” Poppy spoke rapidly without meeting her daughter’s eyes.
Hollis glanced at Candace and assumed her friend’s lifted eyebrows expressed doubt.
“Poppy, if it was important enough to ask us if we had copies, you must be able to be more specific. It has to be related to Danson.”
With another forkful halfway to her mouth, Poppy paused. “You can be so dramatic. Did I tell you we’ll be away at the Vancouver dance competition next week? Candace, darling, if you could see to the cats, I’d appreciate it.”
Candace laid her fork on her plate. She stared at her mother as if confronting a rare and unfamiliar species. “I’ll do it,” she said frostily.
Alberto pleaded the onset of a migraine and left soon after dinner. Elizabeth insisted Poppy supervise her bath and read her bedtime stories.
Candace and Hollis listened to gales of laughter while they cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher.
“She’s terrific with Elizabeth—never worries about getting messy. Elizabeth loves her,” Candace said.
“Fascinating woman.”
How did you say to a friend that you thought her mother was a liar? Hollis ventured what she hoped was a diplomatic question. “Did you think she told us everything about the newspaper article?”
Candace blew a noisy raspberry. “No. She only tells you what she chooses. She didn’t want to enlighten us, and she didn’t.”
When Poppy rejoined them, she gathered her handbag and said, “Darling, I can’t stay. Alberto and I have to rehearse for the competition. Tomorrow morning we’ve reserved our studio for ourselves, and we hired a cameraman to record our routine so we can study it.” She smiled at Hollis. “Delighted to finally talk to you. As an artist you must come down and see my art collection.”
“Love to,” Hollis said. The opportunity to pump Poppy had evaporated. How could they uncover the information she seemed to be withholding?
Six
With her detecting supplies stashed in her bag, Hollis set off for Danson’s. Lights shone from the apartments above and below his black windows. She hated entering unfamiliar unoccupied space at night. She’d once been trapped in a dark, deserted church with a murderer and knew this experience partially accounted for the phobia.
That was then, and this was now. She locked her truck, squared her shoulders and marched into the building. Inside, she unlocked Danson’s downstairs door and climbed the broad, once-grand mahogany stairs as if she carried heavy iron bars that increased in weight with each step she took. When she faced his apartment door and slid the key into the lock, her stomach contracted, and her throat dried. She swallowed convulsively but without releasing any saliva. The taste of hard, metallic fear filled her throat.
How could she overcome this