I’ll be right in.”
I turned my back and walked away. I didn’t want him to see the big smile spreading across my face.
Chapter 8
Millie Zacharias answered the phone after three rings. As I was showering—alone—I got to thinking about the identity of
Hilda Kraus’s murderer. If it wasn’t her daughter Lynette, as Millie had suspected, then whose car was it she saw sitting near and then in Hilda’s yard in the days leading up to the death? Millie thought the car belonged to Lynette. Was she wrong?
“Mr. Quant, I’m surprised to hear from you,” Millie said when I re-introduced myself.
“I hope this is a good time to talk.”
“Sure, but I don’t know what’s left to say. I hear Lynette killed herself when they found out what she did. Sounds like case closed to me.”
“The police were investigating her for Jane’s murder, not Hilda’s.”
“Same difference, I suppose. Like Barb said, dead is dead: let’s just leave it alone.”
“Did you know that Jane believed someone else was responsible for actually killing Hilda?”
“What’s that? Why’d she think that? It’s obvious Lynette was guilty, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. But Jane thought Lynette hired someone else to kill Hilda for her.”
There was a break in the conversation. Millie had obviously placed a hand over the receiver, but I could still make out a
muffled conversation with another woman, likely Barb.
“Is that right? Barb thinks…” A bit more muttering in the background. “I think that’s a bit far-fetched. Don’t you?”
“Actually, I don’t. No matter what Lynette thought of her mother, to physically end a parent’s life would be a very difficult thing to do. She knew she’d be coming into a lot of money after her mother was dead. So even if it was expensive, it would
have been a lot easier to hire someone else to do the dirty work.”
“I suppose. But in Saskatoon? Could she find someone like that in Saskatoon?”
“Ever hear of Colin Thatcher?” The Thatcher case had been big news in Saskatchewan. Thatcher, the son of a former
premier, was a provincial cabinet minister until he resigned in 1983. Four days later, on a bitterly cold day in January, his ex-wife JoAnn was found bludgeoned and shot to death in the garage of her Regina home. The couple’s divorce had been
acrimonious. Rumours abounded that Thatcher was in some way involved and that he’d hired local men to help him commit the
murder. He was found guilty, and sentenced to life in prison.
“So you believe the same thing, then? That Lynette didn’t do the killing?”
“I’m having doubts,” I allowed. “Millie, you told me that you saw Lynette’s car near and in Hilda’s yard around the time of
the murder. How did you know it was Lynette’s car?”
Without hesitation, she responded. “I didn’t.”
“Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!” The discordant chimes in my head peeled. This is one of the reasons it is never a
good idea to take over someone else’s investigation. Things like this get missed.
“I only suspected, that’s all,” Millie told me. “I told Jane what I thought. After I saw the car there two days in a row, and still couldn’t get Hilda on the phone, I took down the licence number. Just in case, you know. I gave the number to Jane. She was pretty happy about that. Said she could use it to confirm it was Lynette’s car.”
“And did she?”
“Dunno. She never told me.”
“Millie, you wouldn’t happen to still have that licence number would you?”
“You bet. Hold on, I’ll find the paper I wrote it on.”
Hallelujah. Things were looking up.
By the time I’d called Darren and begged him to get info on the plate number I’d gotten from Millie Zacharias, JP was coming out of the shower. His hair was silkily wet, and somehow he’d gotten his face scruff back to the just perfect, slightly-unshaven length. He was wearing his own jeans, but had found an old Saskatchewan Roughriders sweatshirt
I turned my back and walked away. I didn’t want him to see the big smile spreading across my face.
Chapter 8
Millie Zacharias answered the phone after three rings. As I was showering—alone—I got to thinking about the identity of
Hilda Kraus’s murderer. If it wasn’t her daughter Lynette, as Millie had suspected, then whose car was it she saw sitting near and then in Hilda’s yard in the days leading up to the death? Millie thought the car belonged to Lynette. Was she wrong?
“Mr. Quant, I’m surprised to hear from you,” Millie said when I re-introduced myself.
“I hope this is a good time to talk.”
“Sure, but I don’t know what’s left to say. I hear Lynette killed herself when they found out what she did. Sounds like case closed to me.”
“The police were investigating her for Jane’s murder, not Hilda’s.”
“Same difference, I suppose. Like Barb said, dead is dead: let’s just leave it alone.”
“Did you know that Jane believed someone else was responsible for actually killing Hilda?”
“What’s that? Why’d she think that? It’s obvious Lynette was guilty, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. But Jane thought Lynette hired someone else to kill Hilda for her.”
There was a break in the conversation. Millie had obviously placed a hand over the receiver, but I could still make out a
muffled conversation with another woman, likely Barb.
“Is that right? Barb thinks…” A bit more muttering in the background. “I think that’s a bit far-fetched. Don’t you?”
“Actually, I don’t. No matter what Lynette thought of her mother, to physically end a parent’s life would be a very difficult thing to do. She knew she’d be coming into a lot of money after her mother was dead. So even if it was expensive, it would
have been a lot easier to hire someone else to do the dirty work.”
“I suppose. But in Saskatoon? Could she find someone like that in Saskatoon?”
“Ever hear of Colin Thatcher?” The Thatcher case had been big news in Saskatchewan. Thatcher, the son of a former
premier, was a provincial cabinet minister until he resigned in 1983. Four days later, on a bitterly cold day in January, his ex-wife JoAnn was found bludgeoned and shot to death in the garage of her Regina home. The couple’s divorce had been
acrimonious. Rumours abounded that Thatcher was in some way involved and that he’d hired local men to help him commit the
murder. He was found guilty, and sentenced to life in prison.
“So you believe the same thing, then? That Lynette didn’t do the killing?”
“I’m having doubts,” I allowed. “Millie, you told me that you saw Lynette’s car near and in Hilda’s yard around the time of
the murder. How did you know it was Lynette’s car?”
Without hesitation, she responded. “I didn’t.”
“Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!” The discordant chimes in my head peeled. This is one of the reasons it is never a
good idea to take over someone else’s investigation. Things like this get missed.
“I only suspected, that’s all,” Millie told me. “I told Jane what I thought. After I saw the car there two days in a row, and still couldn’t get Hilda on the phone, I took down the licence number. Just in case, you know. I gave the number to Jane. She was pretty happy about that. Said she could use it to confirm it was Lynette’s car.”
“And did she?”
“Dunno. She never told me.”
“Millie, you wouldn’t happen to still have that licence number would you?”
“You bet. Hold on, I’ll find the paper I wrote it on.”
Hallelujah. Things were looking up.
By the time I’d called Darren and begged him to get info on the plate number I’d gotten from Millie Zacharias, JP was coming out of the shower. His hair was silkily wet, and somehow he’d gotten his face scruff back to the just perfect, slightly-unshaven length. He was wearing his own jeans, but had found an old Saskatchewan Roughriders sweatshirt
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