desk and gave a penetrating stare as Yoyo clicked off and began sorting mail.
Belle took the information from the Suvaks, who wanted to sell their Mallard’s Landing house to move into a smaller place now that the last teenager had left for college. While they were filling out forms, she noticed Yoyo rise to greet a man dressed in an Armani suit and silk tie. With his brown hair slicked back New York-style, he seemed quite interested in her anatomy.
“I’ll be with you momentarily,” Belle called, acknowledging his presence with a wave.
“No problem, Ms Palmer.” Yoyo grabbed a binder of listings. “Follow me, sir. It’s way more comfortable in the back.”
The small office was getting crowded, but entertaining customers in the rear? Belle ground her molars as she jotted prospects for the Suvaks. When she finished and saw the couple out, she found Yoyo and her client sipping Perrier in the lounge, knee to knee on the couch. The binder was open to one of Belle’s most problematical properties, the Adams horror. No road access. One had to park then climb up and over a rock outcrop the size of a whale.
The man rose and shook hands. “Yoyo told me about this fabulous camp on Digger Lake. I’m very interested. Can we go out this Friday, say around four?”
When he left, she followed Yoyo back to her desk. The woman was smiling like the Mona Lisa on Prozac. “That was good. How did you sell him on the camp?”
“The trout stream over the hill. He loves fishing. My granddad used to go to Digger all the time.”
“This isn’t a reprieve. We need to resume our talk. The subject is your gambling, common knowledge to everyone in town except for one.” She stabbed at her chest with an index finger.
Yoyo’s chin quivered. “I did my time. And I’m on medication. Compulsive gambling is a disease. You wouldn’t fire someone with—”
Belle put up a hand in protest. “If the meds are working, what were those cards I saw?”
Yoyo hit a few keys. “Solitaire. Comes with Windows. Totally innocent.” She put a hand on her belly, which reminded Belle of the elephant in the corner.
“And that’s another problem. How . . . pregnant are you? Forgive my asking.” Pregnant is pregnant. Why did she phrase it that way?
“Only five months. Long time to go.” She blinked, and Belle could swear that her soft, round eyes were filling. “Please, I need this job. My mother’s—”
“Consider yourself on probation, and not because I’m soft. It would be too difficult to replace you for such a short period. And about that medication. Are you sure it’s safe for—”
Yoyo nodded. “Not to worry. It’s only St. John’s Wort.”
With Gary’s death and this revelation about Yoyo, Belle had forgotten about reporting the Skead dumpsite. She dialled CrimeStoppers and to her consternation was routed to Toronto. How efficient was it to describe a bush road to someone four hundred kilometres away who would boomerang the information back to the Sudbury police? “Can you find out anything from the debit slip?” she asked.
“I only record the case, ma’am.” The dispatcher also suggested that she take pictures of the site if possible.
Early the next morning, Belle finally reached Miriam at Jack’s apartment. Apparently he was leaving the hospital tomorrow. “Cantankerous as ever. That’s my boy. So how’s Yoyo working out? A gem or what? Didn’t I tell you—”
“About her gambling addiction?” Belle repeated what Steve had told her.
A worrisome silence made her squirm. Had she gone too far? Miriam’s voice sounded hurt. “It must be a strain being as perfect as you are. Most of us make a mistake now and then. Like human beings, you see? She paid back every cent. Yoyo was one of those rare birds who actually made a profit.”
“And you omitted the fact that she’s pregnant.”
Miriam cleared her throat. “Plenty of time before she’s due. Have a heart for a fellow female. She’s walked a tough road lately.”
“What’s tough about getting pregnant? I hear it only involves lying down.”
“Miss Cynical, listen. A year ago, Yoyo fell in love with her social worker at Vanier, Tom Hourtovenko. When she got out, they married, moved into his apartment. Needless to say, the family resented her. Bunch of hoity-toities who show up at charity events but neglect their own backyard. Tom died in a multi-vehicle auto accident on Highway 400 last winter. Ice fog.”
Belle lowered her voice. “That is bad.” And to think that Yoyo never mentioned any of this. She had a new respect for the woman.
“It gets worse. He hadn’t changed his will or insurance. Just careless. The family turned its back on her. She was left without a cent.”
“What about the baby?”
“Yoyo is a proud girl. She never told them.”
Belle nodded her head, a small door opening in her heart. “Sounds ruthless, all right. I don’t blame her for writing them off.”
“She is doing the job, isn’t she? Results are what count.”
“To be honest, she’s got talent. I think she’s unloaded the Adams camp.”
Miriam gave a low whistle of admiration. “That is a miracle. I’m starting to worry that you’ll replace me.”
“No fear. Every other firm in town would give you a raise.” She paused. “Something else has happened.” She told Miriam about Gary.
“God, I saw the story in the Timmins Daily Press. Friend of mine’s dad died the same way. Sometimes I’m glad we have to stoop to pee, even if we do hit our shoes.” A silence fell. “Sorry. I’m not exactly commiserating. But you never mentioned him. And it’s unlike you to carry a torch and not tell.”
“The torch never caught fire. I got my wish. Went to the grad dance with the valedictorian, and I have the pictures to prove it.”
“Really? Love to see them sometime.”
As the CrimeStoppers agent suggested, she drove to Station Road and revisited the ugly place. While she snapped Polaroid shots of the soggy carpeting and panelling, her reoffended sensibilities gave her another idea for faster action. She headed down the road into Skead. At the turn of the century, it had been a lumbering town, thousands of tons of sawdust at the bottom of Kolari Bay still burbling at the site of the old sawmill. Now it was a peaceful enclave on the lake where a few hundred people lived in a permanent vacation half an hour from Sudbury.
Inside a clear plastic cover, she tacked three pictures to the wooden bulletin board the local seniors had constructed at the mailbox kiosk, then added a handprinted sign: Know anyone renovating with this decor? To be on the safe side, she gave only her cell phone number. Skead was a very small community, and word would travel fast. She had confidence that public sentiment was on her side. People would welcome the opportunity to police their streets for the greater good. Spotting a collection of business cards on the side, she added hers.
As noon approached, she
