Past Tense by Freda Vasilopoulos

harassing her.
    “Do you think Bennett’s found you?”
    She gave a harsh laugh. “I’d say we can assume that. Or one of the other men.”
    Tony looked at her, his eyes narrowing. “Did you know any of them?”
    “Yes, Robert Dubray, the man I thought was dead. But he’s hardly likely to be after me. He would have been too busy looking after his own skin.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Oh, there was some sort of scandal in city hall. I don’t remember the details. I never thought I’d ever see the guy, so I didn’t pay attention to the stories.”
    Tony’s brows drew together, his thoughts racing. “Anything else?”
    “No. Yes.” She closed her eyes, again feeling the gut-wrenching fear that had dogged her during the first weeks after she’d left Montréal. The terror was beginning all over again. And since Tony was now involved, it was better that he knew the worst. “Yes, I saw the man who hit Dubray. It was Claude Germain.”
    Tony stared at her, an icy chill creeping over his skin. “Claude Germain the mobster?”
    “Yes.”
    He gulped. “No wonder you ran away.”
    For a long moment he was silent. Claude Germain. Here was the first evidence that Samantha’s problems might be linked to the upcoming trade conference. If rumors were to be believed, Claude Germain had financed the threat that had aborted the trade conference last April. Because of the continued uneasy relations between French and English speaking factions in Québec province, the conference had been rescheduled to take place in London. Was it possible that someone had breached the shroud of secrecy and again posed a threat?
    Robert Dubray, perhaps? If Dubray were connected with Germain, his presence in the hotel might have significance far beyond what Samantha had imagined.
    “We’d better check if Dubray is really at the Regal Arms,” Tony said. “That should prove whether he’s dead or alive.”
    “I’ve already done that, Tony. He wasn’t registered.”
    “He wasn’t? Well, that doesn’t prove it wasn’t him. He might have been in the hotel to see somebody, or for a meeting.” He sat up straighter. “You know, Sam, we should be able to find out if Dubray was killed. A body is not so easy to get rid of. Of course, there is dumping it in an isolated wooded area, in the proverbial shallow grave. But if the dead man was a prominent person, he would be reported missing.”
    “Newspapers,” Sam exclaimed. “It would have been in the newspapers.” She turned toward him, her face animated again. ”Tony, where can we get hold of back issues of the Montréal papers?”
    All of Tony’s earlier suspicions about Samantha evaporated. Her willingness to follow up on her story, and get to the bottom of it, was genuine. He would give her every assistance he could since it also served his own purpose.
    He smiled. “The Montréal papers are part of a major newspaper consortium, aren’t they? Either a library or one of the offices on Fleet Street should have copies in their archives. If we can get a look at them, we should find out something.”
    “When?”
    “Tomorrow. Can you take a day off?”
    “I suppose. I’ll work some evenings to make it up if I have to.”
    * * * *
    They were coming back from dinner an hour later when they met Jason Wheeler at the second floor landing.
    “Good evening, Miss Clark,” he said, shifting the basket of laundry in his arms. “Did you enjoy your day out?” He didn’t address Tony, merely nodding in his direction.
    “Yes, I did,” Samantha lied. “Except for the rain. How did you know my name?”
    “Oh, that was easy.” Propping the basket against his hip, he gestured airily. “I asked Miss Hunnicott. Translations? That’s what you do, isn’t it? How are you at French?”
    “Fluent, Mr. Wheeler,” Samantha said crisply, wishing he’d move aside so they could get by.
    “Then I might bring some work your way,” Wheeler said. “I do business with a company in France. Just