Right, I think. And unscrupulous breeders. Kevin is to a teacup as a blue whale is to a bathtub.
I unlock the back door and step onto the back deck. My mom walks out behind me. It might be trendy, but it still seems insane to keep a potbellied pig in the house. Although Kevin must spend a lot of time outdoors. Surrounded by a high fence, Daphne’s large back yard is crisscrossed by long furrows and giant craters. It’s like a World War I battlefield, post-typhoon. That pig’s been engaging in trench warfare.
In a far corner stands a small wooden shed with a red-tiled roof, like a rich kid’s cubby house. “Kevin’s cottage,” explains my mother.
Gerard steps out behind us. His round cheeks puff in disgust. “This house, it is heritage-listed,” he says. “Built in 1901. It’s disgraceful to keep a farm animal in such a fine building!”
I make a sympathetic noise and introduce myself. “I’m Toby, by the way. And this is my mom, Ivy, an old friend of Daphne’s.”
“The lady clairvoyant?” enquires Gerard. Maybe I’m just imagining it, but I think I see mockery in his watery green eyes. But then he surprises me and grasps my mom’s hand. “Enchanteé” he tells her. “Daphne says you’re very good. I should consult you.”
Is he serious? While I wouldn’t have pegged Gerard as a believer, I’m constantly surprised that seemingly smart and sane people will pay a stranger to make random guesses about their lives.
“I am planning a new business venture,” explains Gerard. “And want to get off on the right foot.”
My mom smiles. “I’m often hired to help choose an auspicious day,” she says. “Timing is everything.”
I try to conceal my skepticism. “What do you do?” I ask Gerard.
He looks surprised. Like I should know. “I’m a chef,” he says, proudly. “And Isobel is a hôtelier”. He pronounces this last word the French way. “We met years ago, at the Cordon Bleu institute in Paris.”
Paree. This reminds me of Vonda Butt’s romantic honeymoon and brief marriage.
The door cracks open. “Gerard?” Isobel’s voice is sharp. Maybe she thinks he’s out here flirting, or maybe she’s just upset about her mother. She runs a hand through her thin bob. “Mommy’s phone is still off. What should we do?” she asks Gerard.
Despite my many attempts to make eye contact, Isobel still hasn’t acknowledged my existence.
Lukas steps outside too. In one hand he’s holding a bag of Dane jumbo chocolate chip cookies. He must have found them in his mom’s kitchen. His other hand contains half a cookie. “I’m sure Mom’s fine,” he says, then shoves the rest in his mouth. He chews contentedly. “Wow, these are good,” he says. “So chocolatey!”
My mom swallows hard. “I . . . I’m not so sure,” she says. She fiddles with the scarf at her neck. “I’m scared something has happened.” She tugs at her scarf’s tassels. “I’ve got this bad feeling . . .”
While I doubt Isobel has any faith in psychics, my mom’s misgivings must mirror her own. She wrings her skinny hands. “Chéri, should we call the police?” she asks her husband.
Lukas looks up sharply. He stops chewing. “For real? The police? It’s only been a few hours. Mom’s probably out getting a massage, or something.”
“Of course you’re not worried about a few hours,” snaps Isobel. “You’ve been away for what—two, three weeks? Did you even call her?”
Looking at Isobel’s creased face, I recall the mess in the front hall. Maybe the pig knocked that table over, or maybe it was the scene of a struggle. Daphne’s not just a little bit rich. She’s scary rich, like rich enough to get kidnapped.
I think of Colin Destin. He’d be happy to check things out. Getting his professional opinion would reassure my mom. More likely than not, Lukas is right: Daphne will walk in any minute now, fresh and shiny from some expensive facial.
“I have a friend who’s a police detective,” I say. “Colin,” I tell my mom, who loves the guy. “I could call him?”
Lukas rolls his eyes. “You’d be wasting his time.”
“I think you should call him,” says my mother. “Please, call him, hon.”
I reach into my purse and find my cellphone.
Lukas shrugs. “Whatever.” He turns to his sister. “D’you know where Mom keeps the keys to her Audi?” He digs a hand in the bag and extracts another huge cookie.
Isobel’s eyes narrow. “Why? You’re not borrowing it.”
“Says who?” He takes a big bite, his words muffled because his mouth is so full. “My van’s leaking oil. Mmmmm . . .” He tilts the bag toward his sister. “You ever tried these? They’re amazing.”
She swats the bag away. “You can’t just take Mom’s car without permission!”
They’re still bickering as I walk down to ground level. I sit on the bottom step. Is this a waste of Colin’s time? I don’t care. I want to call him.
To prevent the flutter in my stomach from reaching my voice, I take a deep breath, then press Call.
Colin picks up on the second ring. He sounds upbeat. “Hey, Toby! What’s up? How are you?”
“Colin,” I say. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. “Never.”
There’s something soothing yet buoyant about Colin’s voice, alert yet optimistic. I can’t help but smile too. “Colin,” I say. “I’m with my mom. We need your advice.” When I’ve finished explaining, he says he’s nearby and can stop by in ten minutes.
“Great! Thanks,” I say, gratefully. I’m glad he didn’t pass me off to some beat cop, or even worse, tell me not to worry. I give him Daphne’s address. It’s been almost a week since our last date: Thai food and an action movie. The film was pretty lame, but we didn’t watch much of it. I tamp down my smile at the memory of us cuddling in the back row. We’re overdue for a repeat. I can’t wait to see him.
It’s only after I’ve stashed my phone that I remember my date with Josh. A look at my watch makes my stomach plummet. I’d better call him. I’m supposed to meet him in a few minutes.
I retrieve my phone. Back to recent calls. Josh and Colin’s names come up a lot. I met them both this past summer, or rather re-met in Josh’s case, since we’d had a brief, painful, and mostly one-sided teenage romance—that is, I had a hopeless, childish crush on him that I couldn’t shake, even as an adult.
Not long after I moved back to Victoria in June, Josh hired me to handle his multimillion-dollar divorce from a girl who’d made my life hell as a teen. She ended up being murdered, which is how I met Colin, the lead detective on her homicide case.
Both men are amazing: gorgeous, funny, interesting . . . More amazingly still, they’re both interested in me. After years of Saharalike dating drought, this double attention is overwhelming. I like them both. I like them a lot. Choosing feels impossible, like being asked to renounce booze or coffee.
Still elated from my chat with Colin, I wait for Josh to pick up. He answers on the fifth ring. “Hi, Toby. You on your way yet?”