“They’re business partners. They don’t live together because Poppy adores Siamese cats. Certainly the current two, Bubbles and Smokey, run the show. Alberto’s allergic to cats. He can’t spend five minutes in Poppy’s apartment without grabbing for his inhaler. Poppy would not give them up. She once said her cats provided continuity and kept her anchored to reality.”
When she heard the cats’ names, Elizabeth shouted, “Bubbles, go see Bubbles?” When no one responded, her voice rose and became more insistent.
Candace stopped talking, bent down to Elizabeth’s eye level and smiled at her. “No sweetie, not today. Poppy’s coming up for dinner, but she’s not bringing them. You have MacTee—you don’t need the cats.” She looked up at Hollis. “Use your detecting skills and find out what the hell is going on with Poppy. She loves an audience. Not surprising, considering what she did for years.”
People and the details of their lives fascinated Hollis. She supposed that was why she’d taught social history, the story of ordinary people. In intimate conversations, she’d found that there was a confessional pattern. Individuals wound their way into a tale, always aware if the listener lost interest or found intimate details shocking. She found that revelations grew increasingly significant if she didn’t comment but listened attentively. Some Americans surprised her, because they readily revealed the most private details on the shortest of acquaintances.
“What did Poppy do before?” Hollis asked.
“Right now she not only dances in competitions herself but also designs and sews costumes for other ballroom dancers.” A faint smile twitched at the corners of Candace’s lips. “Not for those with whom she competes. There’s a strict code the dresses must conform to, or the wearer is disqualified.” She twirled a strand of Elizabeth’s fine hair around her finger. “But these are second careers.” Her eyes danced.
A big revelation was coming.
“What was the first?”
“Exotic dancer,” Candace said with raised eyebrows. “Bet you weren’t expecting to hear that.” She grimaced. “Thirty years ago, I don’t think it was quite so awful—more like old-fashioned burlesque.” Her eyebrows rose, “At least that’s what I choose to believe. I do know lap-dancing wasn’t allowed.”
Hollis stretched her mind around the idea. You seldom thought about parents’ younger lives.
“Poppy also creates outfits for people for special occasions—Mardi Gras, Hallowe’en, fancy dress balls. She’s talented. If the arrival and departure of UPS trucks is any indication, she does a steady business.”
“Is the dance studio profitable?”
“Something must be. She lives well. Three or four years ago she made a great fuss about buying an expensive fireproof safe. Said she needed to protect her valuables. When I asked what that meant, she winked and said it was better for me not to know.” Candace shrugged. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s something I don’t want to hear.”
Hollis revised her view of Candace’s mother. Who thinks that a friend’s middle-aged mother has been an exotic dancer, let alone has secret sources of money? Given this information, she wondered to whom the house belonged. She paid her rent to Candace, but if Candace owned the house, wouldn’t she live on the first floor?
“Is this her house?”
“Because I live on the second floor?”
Hollis nodded.
“It’s mine,” Candace paused. “Well, to be precise, the mortgage company and I own it. I live upstairs because no one wants to have a dancer over her head and certainly not a night hawk who may have a tango inspiration at three a.m. As it is, I sleep with ear plugs. Poppy claims volume allows the music to penetrate ‘the essence of her being’.”
Elizabeth climbed onto Candace’s knee and snuggled against her. Candace pulled her close. “Hollis, tell me quickly what else you need to know about Danson?” She buried her nose in the toddler’s hair. “You will never know how wonderful it is to have an ally, a friend who knows the ropes.”
“I’m flattered, but don’t get your hopes up. I’ll do my best, but I’ve never searched for a missing person.”
Hollis had been making mental lists, an embryonic attack plan. Their first priority was to decide if Danson had left of his own free will.
“If it’s not an invasion of Danson’s privacy, we should examine his apartment and possessions. You said the man who rents the room isn’t there. What’s his schedule for coming to Toronto?”
“Haven’t a clue. Gregory was here briefly a couple of weeks ago. Danson said he’d like me to meet him the next time he came to Toronto.” She paused. “I can be more precise. He was there two weeks ago when you were here for lunch. If you remember, Danson said Gregory would leave in the morning, and he didn’t know when he’d be back, but we’d meet him when he did make another appearance.”
Sometimes roommates were not as they presented themselves. It was a theme Hollywood had explored in a number of movies where a seemingly innocuous roommate emerged as a psychopathic killer.
“Where did Danson connect with Gregory?”
“It was the other way around. Gregory found Danson. Apparently he hung out with Danson’s crowd at Concordia University in Montreal. Anyway, it’s a perfect setup. Danson needs the money to carry the apartment’s costs, and Gregory won’t often be there.”
“A visit to the apartment is first on our list.”
The tension around Candace’s mouth and eyes had lessened marginally. She ventured a smile. “It will be such a relief to do something. I’m wearing out my phone flipping it open, hoping there’s a message. You may think I’m extremely paranoid, but I’m wondering if I should file a missing persons report with the police?”
“Good question. Why don’t you wait until we’ve seen his apartment?”
“I guess a few more hours won’t hurt,” Candace said slowly and reluctantly. She shook her head. “For him not to have phoned...he knows how I feel. It’s not like him. My sixth sense tells me he’s in terrible trouble.”
Four
Hollis itched to get going, to visit Danson’s apartment and search for signs that he hadn’t intended to be away for an extended period. Despite Candace’s anxiety, Elizabeth’s shoes came first.
“You and Elizabeth are going shopping, aren’t you?” Hollis asked.
Elizabeth, sitting on Candace’s knee, straightened her legs and shook her feet. “New shoes, new shoes,” she chanted as she kicked.
“She has her afternoon nap first. Then we go.” Candace placed a restraining hand on Elizabeth’s legs. “Now that you’ve agreed to help, I hate to waste a minute, but Elizabeth will be a bear if she doesn’t sleep. After that, I don’t have a choice—we must buy shoes.” She lowered Elizabeth to the floor and steered her toward the door. “No matter how often I repeat it, you’ll never realize the extent of my gratitude. You can’t know how relieved I am that we’re doing something.” She stopped halfway to the hall. “I have a set of Danson’s keys, including those for the front door, mail box, apartment door and garage. To speed things up, why don’t I hand them over and let you begin?”
Action at last. “Terrific. The garage. What does Danson drive?”
“He leases a sporty car. I don’t know the make. It’s silver and not expensive. I’m an idiot when it comes to cars, but it’s pretty spiffy.” She corralled Elizabeth. “We’ll shop quickly and join you. Since you’ll have