Keeper of the Flame Read online

“Should I be wary of any resistance at all?” Wally said. “This Carnale guy doesn’t pack a weapon?”

  “Only person who’s got a gun is the chauffeur.”

  “A chauffeur? What kind of gun?”

  “A handgun. Not that I saw it myself, but he was waving it around when he thought somebody had broken into Carnale’s house.”

  “Was he right about somebody breaking in?”

  “Technically, yeah.”

  Wally gave me more of his stare. “Just to be safe,” he said after a moment, “I’ll get some backup, and I’ll wear my vest.”

  “It’s bulletproof, that kind of vest?”

  “Bullet-resistant is the correct phrase.”

  “Resistant? You mean there’s a chance the vest won’t stop the bullet altogether?”

  “Hell of a long shot.”

  “To coin a phrase.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “Anything else you want to ask?” I said. “It’s all clear?”

  “I don’t suppose Flame’s going to be there? At Carnale’s place?”

  “He’ll be either in New York or Los Angeles,” I said. “But I invited his mum over to the meeting.”

  Wally perked up. “Flame’s mum? My girls are gonna love the idea of me meeting Flame’s mum.”

  “All kinds of strange perks in this case, Wally.”

  “Isn’t that just the truth.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  I made a martini, sat down at the dining room table, and phoned Annie. It was 8 p.m. my time, three hours earlier in L.A. I was banking on Annie taking a breather after taping the DeGeneres Show that afternoon. The phone rang three times in Annie’s suite. She picked up on the third.

  “You knocked them dead, sweetie?” I said.

  “All I have to say, doing the skit, we went a little crazy with the kidding around,” Annie said. “Everybody told me it was what they hoped for, both Ellen and me breaking up. Ellen said so. But I’m reserving my opinion until I actually see it for myself.”

  “Which is when?”

  “My plane gets to Pearson 9:30 in the p.m. on Thursday. You and I can hold hands, and watch the disc they gave me of my segment. It’s in my handbag right now, and it’ll stay there while I do a couple of interviews tomorrow.”

  “Wednesday night,” I said, “I’m bringing down the curtain on the entire l’affaire Flame.”

  “Oh god, Crang, please tell me you don’t have something crazy in mind.”

  “What’s your idea of crazy?”

  “A scenario where somebody wreaks physical havoc on you.”

  “Relax, kiddo. A Toronto Homicide detective will be on the premises.”

  “What premises?” Annie said. “Not our house?”

  “Carnale’s place I told you about. In the Beach.”

  “The mansion where the porn movies were made?”

  “That’s the location.”

  “From where you rescued Sal and her friend from the clutches of the evil pornographers.”

  “Franny’s the other girl’s name,” I said. “But all this still leaves me with the main event.”

  “Blackmail and murder,” Annie said. “They’ll be on tomorrow night’s agenda?”

  I brought Annie up to date on very recent events, ending with the bombshell news that I’d probably be unmasking Roger as the leading suspect in the Reverend’s murder.

  “Oh my god, Roger really could be an actual killer?” Annie said, sounding semi-stunned. “I had dinner with the man last night, Flame and him. Thank heavens I didn’t know what you think, murder-wise. I would have been so nervous I’d have blown the whole deal.”

  “How did the dinner come about?”

  “Both of those guys have moved into suites in my home away from home, aka the lap of luxury, the Bel Air. Both Flame and Carnale are on the premises, but it was only Flame I had the dinner date with. Then we’re just starting our appetizer when bloody Carnale walks in, and takes a seat at our table.”

  “He horned in on you guys?”

  “Not even Flame liked it, but you know him, always the gentleman. It wouldn’t occur to him to give Carnale the boot from our table.”

  “Any indications from Carnale that you were dining with a guilty man?”

  “He was subdued, but then I’ve never seen him in anything like what I’d call a voluble state.”

  “You got an opinion how things are between Flame and Roger?”

  “All I know for certain,” Annie said, “the movie stuff is supposed to be thrashed out once and for all at a final meeting with the Hollywood studio people late tomorrow morning. As of the dinner last night, Roger was still resistant to Jerome’s promotion into a higher role as executive producer.”

  “He offer any reasons for his stand?”

  “Personally, I think he’s glad to let Jerome have free reign on the creative side, but Roger doesn’t like him calling some of the shots on the accounting end, as Jerome would if he were executive producer.”

  “Listen,” I said, mustering my most serious tone, “it’s for sure Carnale stole Flame’s eight million and I’m about 90 percent sure he’s the guy who killed the Reverend. Given all of that, it would be a whole lot healthier for the movie’s chances of getting made if Jerome ascended to the executive producer’s job, and Carnale was eliminated from any role among the people who make movie decisions.”

  “Otherwise, if it’s all true about Carnale, and he remains still more or less in charge out here, the movie people might rightfully get the impression they had a sinking ship on their hands.”

  I paused at my end, thinking things through.

  “Crang?” Annie said. “What’s with the silence?”

  “How do I get to speak to Flame?”

  “Right now?”

  “If not sooner.”

  “He’s in his suite. I saw him in the lobby when I came back from the taping with Ellen.”

  “Can you scamper over to his place and ask him to phone me?”

  “Hang up, sweetie, and stand by.”

  I stood by long enough to finish my first martini, but not long enough to make a second. The phone rang.

  “Mr. Crang?” Flame said in his silky baritone. “Two people said I needed to speak to you.”

  “Who besides Annie?”

  “My mother. She told me you’d be taking her to a meeting at Mr. Carnale’s house tomorrow night. What’s this all all about, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Potentially, tomorrow’s meeting will produce good and bad news for you and your immediate career. I can’t tell you what’s involved until the meeting’s done with. But I’ve got an approach worked out, and if you give me an okay to push ahead, I think I can get the best result possible.”

  “This is mysterious stuff, Mr. Crang,” Flame said, sounding as phlegmatic as ever. “Neither Mum nor me have ever even been in Mr. Carnale’s house.”

  “It’s a mansion in the Beach.”

  “Mum’ll love that.”

  “Swimming pool out back.”

  “Olympic size?”

  “Nothing less for Roger.”

  “Mum’s a fool for swimming. You tell her about the pool, she’ll pack her bathing suit for tomorrow night.”

  Admirable as I found Flame’s sanguine attitude, I needed to get him off the domestic stuff and back to business.

  “In the meantime,” I said, “I’ve got one piece of advice I’m offering for free.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “At tomorrow’s meeting with the movie moguls out there, I think you should come out strongly in favour of setting up Jerome as executive producer of your film.”

  “I’ve already arrived at that point of view,” Flame said. “But how do I handle announcing it without Mr. Carnale going ballistic?”
/>   “I got a suggestion.”

  “Let’s have it. I can use all the help I can get.”

  “What you say around the board table, you say you think it would serve the interests of the Flame Group best if Roger were spared the worries of the film in order to concentrate on his duties to your career as a concert performer and recording artist.”

  “Mr. Crang, you talk bullshit with the best of them.”

  “Comes in handy in my line of business.”

  “So I tell everybody at the meeting it would be better for all concerned if Jerome relieves Mr. Carnale of burdens connected with making the movie.”

  “You might add something about Jerome’s great ideas on the creative side.”

  “That’d be the truth, especially now that my man Jerome’s got off his Scarlett Johansson kick.”

  “We see eye to eye on this, Flame?”

  “We do,” Flame said, “as long as you understand you’ve got to tell me what comes out of this meeting tomorrow night as soon as the thing wraps up.”

  “Your mother’s got your cell number?”

  “Sure she does,” Flame said. “But I’ll give it to you.”

  I wrote down the number on the kitchen notepad.

  “You said there was bad news coming for me,” Flame said. “I’ve already had a man murdered who was maybe blackmailing me, not to mention eight million dollars of my own money disappearing into the hands of another blackmailer entirely. How much worse can news get?”

  This was the first sign from Flame I’d seen of anger or dismay or whatever he was expressing.

  “I mentioned there was good news coming too,” I said. “I’m banking on the good far outweighing the bad.”

  “The way I figure it,” Flame said, returning to his imperturbable self, “as long as I concentrate on the music, I’m going to feel okay.”

  “Keep thinking that way till tomorrow night,” I said.

  I hung up and made a new martini. Things seemed as set as I could get them on the Hollywood front. Should I alert Jerome to what was in the works? It might be wise. On the other hand, I felt talked out for the day. I’d settle for something to eat. The refrigerator had nothing except organic peanut butter and twelve grain bread. They’d have to do. Plus some frozen yoghurt in the freezer. And a banana in the fruit bowl.

  I ate, drank, and went to bed with more Jane Gardam.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  I sat with Flame’s mother in the Mercedes. We were parked on a street just up the hill from the Carnale home, by now a familiar view for me. The time was close to 8:30 Wednesday night.

  “That’s a swimming pool, it looks like, behind the tall fence out back of the house,” Alice said.

  “A very big pool, I understand.”

  “I swim at the public sports centre near my house three days a week.”

  “No doubt accounting for your excellent figure.”

  “But it’s a battle, you know, with all the seniors at adult swimming times.”

  “I imagine, the menace of pool overcrowding.”

  “The seniors are the worst, zigzagging out of their lanes and into mine.”

  “An aquatic traffic jam.”

  “And here’s Roger with a pool all to his own self. You’d think he’d invite me over to do my lengths in his empty pool. Thoughtless, that man.”

  Down below, Arthur Kingsmill approached the house on foot, coming up from Queen Street. He must have taken the Queen streetcar from wherever he lived. Under his arm, he carried a thick file of papers.

  “Should I know that man?” Grace said.

  “You’ve never met the Flame Group’s accountant?”

  Alice shook her head.

  “Arthur Kingsmill,” I said. “He’s prepared the papers I told you about.”

  “Meaning I’ll have the authority to sign all the expense sheets that come into the Flame Group?”

  “And you give the approval or otherwise to all the payments that go out.”

  Alice was quiet for a moment. “Crang,” she said after a bit, “Roger must’ve done something awfully dreadful for you to be making all these manipulations with the way my son’s money comes and goes.”

  “My guess is we’re in time to rescue the situation, Alice.”

  Down below, Arthur Kingsmill took a key from his jacket pocket and unlocked the Carnale front door. He went in, closing the door behind him.

  No more than a couple of minutes later, a car pulled into the only empty parking space on the street within close range of the house. Two men got out of the car. The driver was unmistakable in the overweight person of Georgie Gabriel. But who was the other guy?

  Georgie was supposed to be accompanied only by eight million dollars in the most easily transportable form. Since he carried a battered old briefcase in a small size, I assumed it held a certified cheque or a bank draft for the eight million. But there was no reason for Georgie to bring along a second guy.

  The two stepped clear of the car, and started up the walk to the house. The second guy was grey-haired, slightly stooped, and nicely dressed in a tan summer suit.

  “Who do we have here?” Alice said.

  “The one with the briefcase is a gambler named Georgie Gabriel,” I said. “He’s the one bringing the good news. The second …”

  “Yes, who is he?”

  “… Holy shit.”

  “Somebody you didn’t expect?”

  “Pardon my language, Alice.”

  “Heard a lot worse in operating rooms,” Alice said. “And that’s just from the surgeons.”

  “The older guy is a crooked stockbroker named Willie Sizemore, and he wasn’t on the evening’s guest list.”

  Georgie knocked on the Carnale door, and almost immediately Arthur Kingsmill opened it. I couldn’t make out much of Kingsmill’s facial expressions, but his body language told me he wasn’t thrilled to find Willie Sizemore on the doorstep.

  After a small show of hesitation, Kingsmill stepped aside, and the three men disappeared into the house.

  “Everybody arrived now except for Roger?” Alice said.

  “And his chauffeur.”

  “But you and I want to be in there before Roger and the chauffeur get here?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “So what are we waiting for?”

  “Give it a minute to make sure there are no more surprises.”

  The idea of Roger as the killer was giving me a sudden case of second thoughts. I had no doubt he had done all the heinous things with Flame’s money, but did he have the look of a man who murdered someone? He came across as too mild and ordinary for the role. On the other hand, did killers as a species even have a look? Well, yeah, sort of. Freddie Chamblis had the appearance of someone who wouldn’t think twice about taking another guy’s life. No matter what he said in the hospital about only intending to drop me on the balcony, maybe his real intention was to shove me all the way to my demise on Centre Street. And if he did, I reminded myself, Chamblis was acting on Roger’s instructions. That would have made Roger as guilty of murder as Freddie was. So why was I feeling squeamish about implicating Roger in the real killing of the Reverend?

  “Get a grip,” I said to myself.

  “Anything bothering you, Crang?” Alice said.

  “I’m peachy.”

  Alice and I got out of the Mercedes, and walked down the hill to Carnale’s house. Arthur Kingsmill answered after my second knock.

  “We have an unanticipated addition to the group,” he said even before I introduced Alice.

  “Willie Sizemore,” I said. “I doubt he can disrupt our plan.”

  “He says he’s come to apologize,” Kingsmill said. “He keeps talking about a cricket bat and a blow to his head.”

  “I’ve heard versions of the story,” I said.


  I presented Kingsmill to Alice, and asked him to tuck her away in a room close enough for her to hear what was going on in the living room but out of sight.

  “The kitchen,” Kingsmill said.

  “My plan,” I said, speaking to both Alice and Kingsmill, “is for Roger not to know Alice is in the house until I’ve told him about the document he’s going to put his John Henry on. That’s the one where he surrenders the Flame Group’s signing responsibilities and so on. Once that’s done, I’ll bring Alice into the room.”

  “That’s a good strategy,” Kingsmill said. “Roger will probably be less embarrassed and more willing if Ms. Desmond isn’t present when his perfidy is revealed.”

  “Perfidy, huh?” I said.

  “Good word under the circumstances,” Kingsmill said. “And I’m not forgetting I was part of it.”

  “I’m still in the dark,” Alice said.

  “Not for long,” I said.

  I turned to Kingsmill. “You put the briefcase somewhere in the living room?”

  “On the bottom shelf of the bookcase beside the fireplace.”

  “Good man,” I said. “Stout fellow. Sound chap.”

  Kingsmill led Alice down the hall to the left, past the closed door to the living room, and further on to what I assumed was the kitchen area. As soon as they were out of sight, I opened the door ahead of me, and stepped into the living room.

  The first thing that registered, even before I checked out the two guys in the room, was a large and lovely painting by Graham Coughtry. It was on the far wall directly in front of me, one more in the Carnale collection of Canadian artists. The painting was in pale oranges and greens, two figures colliding sensually in midair.

  I swung my gaze around the rest of the big room, which seemed to be divided into two sitting areas. One was grouped in front of the fireplace, a dark maroon leather sofa and three armchairs, also leather and dark maroon. The other area, closer to the window looking into the backyard, consisted of two sofas covered in flowery designs, a couple of straightbacked chairs, and a substantial coffee table with bowls and a vase on it. The vase held a nice arrangement of pale blue flowers, which I couldn’t identify.