After Lorne's phone call with Ruth, he completed his report to the task force and sent it. Then opening a new email, he read for a while before he looked up and said, "From the local detachment. They can now release your belongings, Cynthia."

She laughed. "A small carry-on with a toiletries case, fresh undies and a laundry bag stuffed with dirty biking clothes."

"That's it?"

"A single overnight, Lorne, and I know better than to leave valuables in hotel rooms. But what about my car? It's still in Listel's parkade."

"Would he know what it looks like? Its plate number?"

"Yeah, most likely. I drove to the out-of-town openings."

"I'll have the police do a bug search and scan on it. Recommend they remove the plates and bring it to their parking lot. Leave it there until –" Lorne paused and shrugged. "Until it's safe again for us out there."

"Yeah, that'll save the hotel's thirty-five dollars per day fee. My bike's on the bumper rack – would it be safe there?"

Lorne chuckled. "In front of the police station, I would think so. But when the car is deemed bugless and the area is goon-free, they could drive it up here; I've room for it in the garage."

I pointed to Lorne's computer screen. "Did they mention Suprême?"

"Nothing yet, Kate. Though it's still early – Municipal offices have only just opened."

"But beyond the legal paperwork, Lorne. Having the police monitor the location will confirm my hunch that the opening is going ahead."

"What?" Cynthia snapped her head to look at me. "Why would he continue? How?"

"He's leased the property, and it would have been wise to hire most of the old staff when he took over the business. Be simple to train them to the new menu, particularly without the coercion options. He's too deep into it to shut down now. Short-notice lease termination liability and employee severance would amount to tens of thousands – and if it's a big place with a large staff, possibly a hundred thousand or more."

"True." Lorne nodded. "And the courts are very fast and unbending on employee compensation abuse. Without a focused media event, their opening will likely flop, and while the business wallows, it might be best to give severance notice. Use what revenue there is to lessen the impact of the liabilities as the company coasts to closure."

"Yeah. But he's shown he doesn't need me for the openings – needs only my list, and I'm sure he has all their contact information. He'll pick a day and send out the invitations himself."

"He'd prove himself utterly daft to use any from your list now, Cynth. He'll know that most of them are now aware of the scam."

"Doh!" Cynthia slapped her forehead. "How stupid of me not to realise – but where would he get reviewers?"

"He doesn't need reviewers, Cynth. With the Whistler market almost entirely short-term visitors, blog and newspaper reviews are near useless – the approach should be more immediate."

"Doh again. Seems I'm too caught up in his flimflammery. This needs discount flyers in the hotel rooms, info packages to the concierges and front desks, coupon distributors in the squares, sandwich-board walkers ... Old-time marketing."

"Exactly, and likely the staff he has acquired will set him straight." I shrugged. "Surely, he listens to others. Asks for advice."

"He did in the beginning with me." Cynthia winced. "Helped him set up his system. Then I became little but a figurehead – a piece of his promotion. A piece he wants to get rid of."

Lorne looked up from his keyboard. "Crime networks of this sort often rely on top-down authority, usually unquestioned and backed by intimidation and the idea that people are disposable. Though Frank knows you've gone to the police, I wager he thinks his actions and identity are untraceable."

"But he'll still search for me."

"For us, Cynth. We all have information he'd like silenced." I shuddered. "God! That now seems almost natural to say."

A while later, when Lorne had finished his reply to the police, he asked, "How's the grocery list coming, Kate?"

"Done – except for the wine. Don't know their list, so I'll leave that to you." I scanned down my computer screen. "Chicken breasts, salmon steaks and lasagna à la Kate for the first three dinners. Potatoes, rice and an assortment of vegetables. We still have lots of breakfast and lunch stuff, but I added bagels, cream cheese, lox and capers and more yoghurt and fruit. Also, pots of Simon and Garfunkel and –"

"Simon and Garfunkel?"

I chuckled. "Their 1960s musical masterpiece, Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme. We need to start a herb garden here; you have nothing but dried."

"True. I usually buy pots of fresh basil and parsley every other week." He grinned. "But we do have a well-stocked wine cellar."

Lorne gave me the email to First Resort's concierge service, and when I had sent the list, I looked up to see him watching me, a sublime expression on his face. I sighed and asked, "What next?"

"I'll pull us some double espressos and continue basking in your beauty while we wait."

"How long?"

"Eight and a bit." He blushed and cleared his throat. "Need to heat the water and grind the beans. But the grocery order, three or four hours – Mondays are busy for them with all the turnovers."

I glanced at his crotch and followed the tenting down his thigh, licking my lips and offering him a huge smile. Then remembering we're not alone, I shook my head and asked, "And how long for the police?"

"We may hear something from Whistler before noon."

"And from the task force?"

"No estimate. A few days. A week. Longer." He poured beans into the hopper.

"I'll go stir crazy cooped up inside, waiting."

"You could write."

"Too tense with anticipation. Need to do some yoga to unwind – allow the muse to find me. Do you have a mat?" I chuckled. "Seems I came away without mine."

"You could use one of my crash pads."

"Crash pads?"

He pointed to the far end of the vast room. "Over there, stacked beside the fireplace. Still trying to send the right dihedral without using the mantle."

I followed his point and stared at the massive fieldstone wall, analysing it and allowing his words to sink in. "Oh, wow! And you used only rock-coloured holds. Can't even see them from here."

"No, it's still unadulterated masonry. I've resisted adding artificiality."

"Oh, my! Do you have an auto-belay?"

"Resisted that, as well. I satisfy myself by doing traverses and other wanderings on the bottom half. Dozens of variations that need only crash pads for safety. The top half is all unsent."

Cynthia shook her head. "I'm completely lost here."

"A climbing wall, Cynth. A fully organic one without the clutter of plastic holds."

"Oh! We have those in my gym – walls freckled with rainbow-coloured blobs. I've never done anything with them, though." She chuckled. "I prefer exercises that are more down-to-earth."

We carried on a banter about exercise and yoga while Lorned pulled three double espressos. Then with a basket of biscotti, we settled into the deep cushions of the sage-green chairs and couch arranged around a large coffee table in front of the fireplace.

As I stirred my froth with a biscotto, I said, "Waiting for the police to work their magic might not be so bad as I had feared. Instead of figuratively climbing the walls, we can actually do it."