Steve Wade
Mysteries
By Iris Wynne
Publisher: Soul Mate
Publising
Genre: Romantic Suspense or Cozy Mystery
Steve Wade is an
ex-cop with an ex-wife and girlfriends he could never commit to. Now he’s a
private investigator known for his knack in solving crimes.
This handsome
private eye never has a problem finding customers. His newest case involves
five frantic Mah Jongg players who are in search of one of their players who
disappeared after meeting a man on an Internet dating site.
Wade is
reluctant to take the case, believing it to be just another woman not wanting
to be found. But the Mah Jongg players are insistent that Marilou did not
vanish on her own. In the meantime, they organize a Valentine’s speed-dating
gig inviting all the suspects who dated Marilou in an attempt to find her.
As he watches
the dinner play out he begins to realize she may not have gone willingly when
all the suspects are before him. He even hires his sometime drop-dead gorgeous
girlfriend for the event to lure the culprit out into the open. Steve just
hopes no one goes home with a potential killer.
Wade has to work
fast as the case begins to unravel when lies and betrayal become evident and
the truth of what happened to Marilou becomes clear. Will he be able to find
the suspect before they choose another victim? This may be his biggest
challenge yet.
Marilou Dickson was sitting at the bar, sixty
miles away from Toronto on a Saturday night waiting for her date. The only
problem was she didn’t know who he was. She got in touch with him on an online
dating site and his picture looked great, even though he was much younger than
her. A full head of dark hair, straight nose, large hazel eyes and great abs
from a previous picture he sent her. She imagined his strong arms wrapped
around her as he made love to her. She was tired of being alone as age and
beauty were slowly taking its toll while drinking and smoking was becoming an
obsession that a good man could help her control.
The noise in the bar was unbearable and she
was dying for a cigarette. At least in the old days before cell phones and
Internet, you could smoke. The place was packed with pretty girls in floozy
outfits, some displaying unwanted flesh. Youth could get away with many things
and the sleazier you got, the more attention from the men.
It was like that years ago before marriage
and grown kids.
Her phone buzzed which made her spill her
drink on her new gold cashmere sweater.
“Damn!” she said.
“May I buy you another drink?”
She looked up and there was her man, looking
better in person.
“Hi!” she said tying not to slur her words.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered to her.
“What about my drink?”
“Let’s go to my place.” He smiled as his
white teeth flashed at her.
She wanted to stay here and enjoy the bar and
perhaps dance. She wasn’t ready to go to his place yet. She sighed and smiled
up at him.
“Why don’t we just stay here?”
“You’ll get too drunk.”
She grinned at him, thrilled that he should
be so concerned about her. Her phone buzzed again. She gave him a shrug.
“Sorry–I may as well answer this or I’ll
never hear the end of it.”
She was going to tell him her friends were
worried about her, warned her about going out with strangers–blah-blah. She
decided not to say anything. She noticed that his hair was an unnatural black
hue, almost like a wig. She wouldn’t care less if he was bald–didn’t men
understand that? His glasses were tinted unable to really see the color of his
eyes. Something in the pit of her stomach was telling her something was off.
She answered her phone walking a distance away from him and the bar. He was
watching her though, his look almost a leer. Perhaps it was because she was
drunk that she thought this. Nevertheless she would not leave alone and go back
into an empty house especially on a Saturday night.
“Marilou is that you?” Harriet said, her
voice full of concern.
“What’s up, I’m in the middle of a date.”
“Just checking to see if you’re okay.”
“I’m fine really, you don’t have to worry.”
“Where are you?”
“Outside of Toronto.”
“What!”
“Harriet, I’m a big girl.”
She glanced over at him. He bought a drink
and was sipping it rather quickly. He was watching her so she waved to him.
“What does he look like?”
“I don’t know, he’s wearing a dark wig and
glasses.”
“Marilou, that is not a good sign.”
Harriet could hear a deep voice asking her
friend something.”
“Gotta go Harriet, see you Monday night.”
There was a click and the line went dead.
Steve Wade is an
ex-cop and now private investigator. His reputation for solving crimes is
growing.
His newest
client is a man charged with a murder he says he did not commit. The convict's
sister has evidence that the person he supposedly murdered is alive and living
somewhere in Shanghai after an old classmate of hers sees a double of the
murdered victim while touring parts of Asia.
Is the murder
victim, a woman, really alive and the man charged with her murder innocent?
Steve does not
know what to think. Should he believe a convicted killer who was once a drug
addict living on the streets? Steve however does not want an innocent man to
spend the rest of his life in jail.
It's a dilemma
he must think through and to try to prove the convicted murderer's innocence.
She had left her
group and her husband in order to go to the Peace Hotel washroom which was one
of or perhaps even the nicest washroom she had ever seen. Its decor was all
black and white marble with gold faucets matching the gold chandeliers along
the walls that lit the room. Each toilet had its own cubicle and a shiny black
door. American style—no hole in the ground—to every tourist’s delight.
And that is when
she saw her.
Connie stared at
the woman beside her who was washing her face. A ghost from the past; a woman
who was ostensibly dead four years ago. She blinked back at the woman a few
times. She hadn’t seen her in over ten years. She had known her since childhood
which was embedded forever as a memory.
And Connie
Stern’s memory was exceptional. She was the type of person who never forgot a
face.
The woman beside
her was tall and slim. Her hair, once a shiny dark hue, was now peppered with
gray. But those eyes were the same, an unusual dark green that glowed like
emeralds. That was her trademark along with her natural beauty. She was the
second child of a famous music producer from Toronto. His five beautiful
daughters had lived in Rosedale, one of the wealthiest areas in Toronto. The
youngest three were from another marriage, but they all lived together in
harmony with the second wife, or so the story goes.
If that was
Patricia Gold, she would be in her forties and the woman across from her was
definitely that age. Her attractiveness was gone, though, after years of living
on the street.
It had been a
surprise in the community, to say the least, when she left her husband and
children in search of drugs. Connie could not believe it when it happened. She
had known Patricia well growing up and never saw a sign of it, of the
unhappiness or the addiction to drugs. She did know, however, that Patricia
wanted to be thinner so she could model. She glanced at her again. The woman
glimpsed back at her briefly as she washed her hands.
Connie thought
of Patricia's husband, whom she knew in high school. He was popular and could
pick any girl he wanted. When they married, she and Patricia were no longer
friends which always happened in a big city. Different universities, new jobs,
and location changes all caused people to make new friends. Nevertheless, they
were the perfect couple, everyone thought. Connie always had fond memories of
her.
Connie put her
hands in the dryer, peering over at the woman again. She remembered one of the
last times seeing her. It was years ago when she and her own husband were
walking their kids in strollers when Patricia and her husband drove by and
asked them for directions to the nearest park. Their children were sitting in
the back seat, silently staring up at them. It was only Connie who had
recognized them but said nothing as her husband rambled off the directions. Too
much time had passed for either of them to say anything. Everyone looked
different with age anyway. Still, she never forgot a face.
Another time,
she had seen her at a bar midtown, around Yonge and Eglinton. Connie and two of
her friends had decided to go out on the town without kids or spouses, like old
times. She hated it though, missing her husband and children, and was just as
happy to be home with them. Let the singles have the single life, she had
thought. But she did see Patricia Gold there, all dressed up, looking lovely,
holding a drink with another old friend who Connie also knew in high school.
Her friend was a runner and to this day would be seen running down Avenue Road
as if the devil was trying to catch up to her.
And that was the
last time she saw Patricia, until now, that is, if it was her.
She held her
breath. “Patricia?”
The woman looked
up and turned to her with a frown.
“Patricia Gold,
is that really you?”
The woman’s
green eyes opened wide along with her mouth. She stared back for a second and
then ran out of the washroom, leaving Connie staring back at the swinging door.
Connie put her hands down on the white granite sink and wondered, of all
things, if the sink was real gold, gold plated or just painted gold. The
chandeliers flickered and her reflection staring back at her in the mirror
looked flushed and confused. Did she see a ghost or was it a double? She did
what the other woman did and rinsed her face. She was wrong—she had hoped—and
shook her head trying to ignore what had just happened. She would continue her
vacation and carry on as if nothing had happened.
Iris has always
wanted to be a writer even before her six-year-old daughter would sneak
downstairs and read aloud her stories on the computer as she would type away.
Iris has proof of this in an out dated filing cabinet crammed with old
manuscripts and short stories in big binders containing historical romance,
mysteries, even fantasy.
When she is not
working at her computer waiting for a story to come to life, she is busy dog
walking, or organizing a game of Mah Jongg and of course reading.
Iris lives in
Toronto, Canada with her husband. Her children live on their own and her
parents are relieved to receive a text message from them now and then.
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