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  “The person,” Ish said, still speaking emphatically, “whoever did the forgery, just didn’t care. No only was he committing a forgery, but he didn’t give a damn about the sloppiness of the job he was doing.”

  Ish leaned back in his chair, looking sorrowful, like a man who had borne more than he could bear.

  Neither of us spoke for a minute or two.

  “I appreciate your help, Ish,” I said, feeling regret for the woe I’d brought into the man’s store. He seemed to have gone into a trance of despair. I stood up, lifting the bogus Reading Sonnets off the desk and hoping the prospect of my leaving might stir Ish back to regular life.

  “I hate it when people don’t play the game according to the rules,” he said, rousing himself.

  “Ish,” I said, “there’s a lot of that going around these days.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I stopped at one of the Japanese restaurants on Bloor near Spadina, bought some sushi for a late lunch, and carried it up to my office. When I got off the elevator, somebody was waiting for me in the hall outside my door. It was Charlie Watson. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked generally like she was just getting over a weeping jag.

  “This is my day for spending time with unhappy people,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “Probably unhappy for the same reason.”

  “What are you talking about, Crang?” Charlie said in a raspy voice.

  “Forged nineteenth-century poetry.”

  Charlie took a wad of Kleenex from her jeans pocket and buried her face in it. She wept buckets.

  I put my arm around Charlie’s shoulder, guiding her into the office. She made snuffling noises into her Kleenex. I fixed a pot of coffee. Charlie, her tears beginning to dry up, took a cup when I offered it. She waved off an offer to share in the sushi.

  “You know what my problem is?” she said.

  “Got a fair idea.”

  “I’m such a dope when it comes to men.”

  “Are we talking about Brent Grantham now?”

  Charlie’s eyes widened. I assumed it was in surprise.

  “How did you know I was mixed up with him?” she said.

  “This is Crang you’re talking to, master investigator.”

  I nibbled at my sushi.

  “I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Charlie said.

  “Not a mistake, Charlie,” I said. “A crime.”

  I regretted the word as soon as it came out of my mouth, not because it wasn’t true but because I was afraid it might set Charlie off in another flood of tears. It didn’t.

  “Will I go to jail?” she said.

  “Hardly,” I said. “You’re getting ahead of the story anyway.”

  Charlie took a moment to compose herself. “The so-called affair with that bastard Brent didn’t last long,” she said.

  “Who made the first pass at whom? That’s where you should begin the narrative.”

  Charlie took a long sip of her coffee. “Brent used to flirt with me a little whenever he came into the store, which was fairly often since last winter. Then all of a sudden, three weeks ago, it wasn’t flirting. He invited me out to dinner at Scaramouche. You’ve eaten there? The place on top of Avenue Road hill, looks out over the city, all so romantic, the view, the lights down below, the wine and everything. With me, it was game over right then. I was smitten.”

  “Skipping along,” I said, “I assume a lot of wooing ensued, and next thing you know you’re letting him into the store late at night so he can swipe his mother’s copy of the Elizabeth Barrett Browning poetry from Fletcher’s safe.”

  “No, that’s wrong,” Charlie said, shaking her head vigorously.

  “He wanted to take both it and the Hickey letters?”

  “Brent just wanted the letters,” Charlie said. “Not the poetry at all. But when I opened the safe, and he saw the collection of poems, and I told him it was his mother’s, he snapped it up too. I told him not to, but all of a sudden, he seemed to get serious about taking it. It wasn’t that he thought it was a joke, you know, a lark. He sort of needed to take it. I can’t really describe the atmosphere in the room at that minute, but it seemed as if he just had to have it. So he took it.”

  “Just one question, Charlie,” I said. “Which one of you two slick break-and-enter artists was it who knocked over the stack of books in the store?”

  “And woke the architect in the office upstairs?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Brilliant move.”

  “Brent knocked the stack over in the dark, but it was really my fault because I knew the books were there and didn’t warn him.”

  “Not important,” I said. “It’s pathetic, the foul-ups that bring down the bad guys, if you’ll pardon the description.”

  “It’s all right. The thing was doomed at every step.”

  “So Brent snapped up the forged poems, which was nasty of him,” I said. “But I’m guessing a few days later you put the poetry back in the safe.”

  “Which is something I never told Brent,” Charlie said. “It was just that I was embarrassed about stealing his mother’s stuff. I’m admitting that Brent talked me into letting him take the Hickey letters. That was the stupid agreement I made with him, strictly out of blind love, which was what I thought I felt at the time. But the stealing part, it was intended to be strictly the Hickey letters.”

  “Where do you think the poetry is now?”

  “In the safe, naturally, where I returned it.”

  “Have you checked the safe since you opened it that last time, when you made the return?”

  “Are you kidding? The damn safe spooks me after what I’ve been through. I’m not touching it again as long as I live.”

  “What about Fletcher? Has he spoken of the poems being in the safe?

  “Not that I recall. But why would he? It’s the missing Hickey letters he’s worried about.”

  “Are you going to tell Fletcher where he can find the letters? Is that your idea?”

  “My idea? Jesus, Crang, I don’t have an idea. My idea, if you can call it that, was to come here and ask your advice. Beg for your advice. I’m desperate, man.”

  I finished the sushi, wiped my hands on one of the dozen napkins the Japanese restaurant insisted on jamming into the takeout orders, and poured myself another cup of coffee. Charlie didn’t want any more.

  “Big question, Charlie,” I said. “Why did your ex-boyfriend want to get his hands on the Hickey letters?”

  “This is complicated.”

  “I can just imagine.”

  “Wait till you hear it. I doubt even you could believe the stupidity that went on.”

  “Try me, Charlie.”

  “You know about the arrangement Mrs. Grantham made with her two sons about the early part of their inheritance, the part they got while she’s still alive?”

  “She bought them a house each, plus ten million bucks apiece for the sons to shape their own careers.”

  “Or whatever,” Charlie said.

  “Do I assume from your ‘whatever’ that Brent’s career laid a ten-million-dollar egg or something along those lines?”

  “Exactly along those lines,” Charlie said. In her relish for telling the story, she seemed to have shaken her tragic air. “Brent’s strategy was kind of clever. What he did was, he set out to work his own version of his mum’s business, the blood-testing method that’s earned all the billions…. You understand about it?”

  “I know about it, though I’d never say I understood the science and everything that goes with it.”

  “Me neither,” Charlie said. “But Brent thought he did, and his brainstorm was to start up a company, unbeknownst to his mother, that administered tests like hers in the Caribbean countries that Mrs. Grantham so far hasn’t touched with her own company.”

  �
��Seems reasonable,” I said. “It doesn’t read well on the loyalty meter, but probably nothing outright crooked.”

  “Believe me, Crang, loyalty and Brent Grantham have a very distant relationship. Maybe even non-existent.”

  “You would know.”

  “Too damn right.”

  “Then what happened in the Caribbean?”

  “A guy named Cedric from Jamaica totally bamboozled Brent, and wherever Cedric presently resides, Brent’s ten million bucks is with him. With Cedric, that is.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “Which brings me to stage two of the story.”

  “This is where the Hickey letters come into play?”

  “Yes, but it’s preceded by Brent’s whirlwind romance with me.”

  “Speaking of suckers.”

  “You don’t need to rub it in,” Charlie said. Her upper lip trembled, and for a moment I thought she might turn on the waterworks again. But as before, she righted herself and got on with the Hickey end of the story.

  “Brent had apparently been pals for years with the Hickey girl,” she said.

  “Acey.”

  “Not that I ever met her. I didn’t meet anyone from Brent’s life in the short time I was with him. It was his choice to keep our relationship secret. I was kind of disappointed at first, but now I’m glad I went along with it. I’d be mortified if anyone found out about what I’ve done with Brent. Anyone except you, that is.”

  “No guarantees, Charlie, but get on with the story and I’ll see about a cover-up.”

  “Cover-up?” Charlie said, sounding panicked. “I’ve heard with a lot of politicians and people of that type, it isn’t the actual crime that gets them in trouble. It’s the cover-up.”

  “Charlie, will you finish the damn story, and then maybe I’ll figure out a solution that’ll keep trouble from your door.”

  “You swear you’ll help me?”

  “I swear.”

  “So,” Charlie began again, “Brent learns from his friend Acey Hickey that she kept up the premiums on a two-million-dollar policy covering her late father’s valuable letters.”

  “Very sensible.”

  “Then Brent and I do our break-in, and when Acey hears that the letters have gone missing, she naturally has a fit.”

  “Who told her there’d been a theft? Not Brent.”

  “The first person to mention the break-and-enter to Acey was Fletcher. He told her right after Brent and I, you know, pulled the, ah, job.”

  “That’s interesting. Fletcher has kept the robbery a secret from Brent’s mother but didn’t waste any time informing Acey Hickey.”

  “I’ve no idea about that,” Charlie said. “It’s beside the point anyway, at least as far as what happened with Brent and me is concerned.”

  “Don’t let me interrupt.”

  “Okay, Acey threw a conniption fit when she learned about the letters going missing. She went even more ballistic when Brent dropped in on her and said he was in a position to put the letters back in her hands if she paid him half of their value. Namely a million bucks.”

  “All of this was bound to get tricky.”

  “Not to Brent. All he expected was for Acey to collect on a claim against the insurance company and pay off Brent to the tune of the million dollars.”

  “What would happen to the letters? Which, of course, hadn’t gone missing at all.”

  “Brent promised to slip the letters back to Acey, who would keep them hidden, and one day at a time long in the future, she’d market them somehow or other.”

  “According to this dodgy little scheme,” I said, “Acey theoretic­ally benefits twice, first by deceiving the insurance company, then by peddling the letters to a secret collector of literary memorabilia in some distant outpost.”

  “Brent says Walter Hickey is huge today in Moscow.”

  “He used that angle to help peddle his scheme to Acey?”

  “Brent is unbelievable at selling dodgy stuff that’s supposed to get him rolling in cash.”

  “To be fair to Acey, she hardly had much choice. It was accept Brent’s deal or never see the letters again. “

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Even if the idea of one day marketing the letters in Moscow could be a very long shot.”

  “I guess.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s recap. Brent’s already lost his original ten million. Is the million from Acey supposed to straighten up his finances in part?”

  “You’ll think what I’m about to tell you is crazy.”

  “No doubt, but tell me anyway.”

  “Brent found a guy in Jamaica who swears he can lead Brent to Cedric, the slick operator who’s got Brent’s money. All this other Jamaican guy wants is a whopping big finder’s fee, something in the one-million-dollar neighbourhood.”

  I made a whooshing sound of amazement at the catalogue of foolhardiness I was listening to. “Brent’s coming across as a man who didn’t learn his lesson the first time around.”

  “Exactly. Loses his money to Cedric, and now he’s probably going to lose some more to another Jamaican guy.”

  The coffee in my cup had gone cold, and the pot on the coffee maker was empty. Did I need another cup? I did. All the talk of flim-flamming was wearing on the brain. I spooned out enough Sumatra to make one more cup.

  “The particular trickery involving Acey Hickey,” I said, “it’s still in the evolving stage as far as her connection with Brent goes, correct?”

  “It was as of yesterday, Sunday morning, which was when Brent kicked me out of his house and broke up with me in the most hurtful possible way. He told me, in these exact words, that I’d served my purpose. Can you believe it?”

  “You’ve already convinced me he’s an all-round skunk.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “Back to the present state of affairs, if you don’t mind, Charlie,” I said, rushing a little before Charlie broke into tears again. “Acey hasn’t yet filed a claim with the insurance company, and Brent still has the swiped letters in his possession?”

  “That’s how the situation was yesterday, totally,” Charlie said, holding her emotions steady. “The action on all fronts is supposed to get underway this week.”

  “Well, too bad for Brent, as I happen to know that Acey doesn’t intend to play ball with him.”

  “How did you learn that? A lot of the stuff I told you, you seem to know things that go one step further. I don’t get it.”

  “Charlie,” I said, laying on my most sincere tone, “now’s the time you and I reach an agreement about silence. You take an oath you’ll keep your lip zipped on everything you know from your own first-hand experience, as well as everything you learn from me. You guarantee?”

  “And you’ll help me get through the trouble I might face with the law?”

  “I’m the only guy on your side.”

  “Okay,” Charlie said, also sounding sincere. “I swear.”

  “Especially not a word to Fletcher.”

  “Oh, god, I’d die before I told him how I’ve blundered around.”

  “We’ve got an arrangement?”

  “I swear, I swear.”

  “Now that that’s levelled out,” I said, “answer a question for me. Where in Brent’s house does he keep the Hickey letters?”

  “That’s a change in gears, asking me a question like this.”

  “Not really,” I said. “The letters are in the coloured boxes, which are hidden where? It’s the boxes I’m referring to.”

  “They’re not hidden in any real way,” Charlie said. “But I have to say it’s kind of tricky to locate them.”

  She stopped talking and gave me a long look.

  “Don’t clam up now, Charlie,” I said. “What’s tricky?”

  Charli
e gave her head a shake, as if she were loosening up for a full confession. “Brent works in this home office on the second floor, which is where the boxes are. But the way you get to the office, you have to go into the master bedroom. It’s got a really large closet for clothes and shoes and all Brent’s other stuff. But the closet also has a second door at its back. You push open the door, and there it is, Brent’s home office. It’s another extra large room, and the boxes sit on a shelf on one wall. They’re totally obvious once you’re in the room.”

  “Not locked up?”

  “Brent’s hardly a fiend about home security.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “Leave the rest to me.”

  Charlie hesitated, then asked a question. “What did you mean when you said Acey Hickey’s not about to go along with Brent’s plans for the million bucks?”

  “This is information that belongs under the cone of silence, along with everything else you know.”

  “Crang,” Charlie said, “I don’t how much more of this I can take.”

  “Acey’s in the market for some heavies to straighten out Brent and get her dad’s letters back.”

  Charlie’s face went even paler than it had already been. “They’re going to do damage to Brent?” she said.

  “That could be part of the idea.”

  “Oh jeez.” Charlie’s lips trembled. “In one way, I think Brent has it coming to him. But in another, it just seems a terrible way for the serious relationship I thought I had going with him to end up.”

  Charlie groped around for her Kleenex. “Damn,” she said, “I’ve run out.”

  Tears dripped down her cheek.

  “Hold on,” I said. I pulled out a half dozen serviettes from the bag the sushi came in. Charlie pressed the serviettes to her face and blubbered until she seemed to weep the agony out of her system.

  “For you, Charlie,” I said, “I think the worst is over unless you do something else stupid, which I consider highly unlikely. That’s me giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

  Charlie stood up, nodding and smiling at last. I kissed her on both cheeks and guided her out the door and down the hall. She got on the elevator, and I went back to the office. Charlie’s cheeks had tasted of sushi.