Closing Time

by Brenda Chapman

  She opened her eyes and took a long look at the lake before continuing across the grassy incline to her cabin. A full afternoon of typing notes on her laptop lay ahead of her before she and Taiku would go into town to send the file to Clark. She consoled herself thinking that she’d forget about all she’d given up by her decision to stay behind as she immersed herself in sorting through the evidence and getting her thoughts in a semblance of order. Thomas Faraday might very well be the killer, but God knew there were many other suspects in this secretive little community. Her mind was already cataloguing a list of possibilities as she stepped through the cabin door.

  They waited until Neal saw the cop and her dog drive away from the lodge after supper to gather in the kitchen. The news that Thomas had been taken into the police station in the Soo had them on edge.

  “Lots of leftovers,” said Shane, turning off the stove. “The cop’s niece is gone. Blaine skipped supper because he’s sick, and Thomas has been taken in for questioning. No cottagers or town people tonight for supper, even.”

  “An early evening then,” said Petra, opening the fridge. She bent at the waist so that the others had a full view of her rounded rear end. The outline of her thong was visible through the tight fabric of her skirt. She turned to look at Shane with her pointer finger between her red, glossed lips. She slowly pulled it out of her mouth and asked, “What have you got to go with whipped cream, darling?”

  Shane laughed self-consciously but wasn’t embarrassed enough not to play along. “I should have something in reserve.”

  “You always do.”

  “Oh, for god’s sake,” Martha grumbled. She’d long tired of these two. Petra was always stirring up trouble and Shane was a willing fool. She didn’t like to acknowledge her own twinge of envy. “You know we have cherry and blueberry pie. Take your bloody pick.”

  Petra straightened and turned, holding the bowl of whipped cream. She ran her finger through the cream and popped a glob into her mouth. “I’ve always been partial to ripe cherries.” She set the bowl on the counter and walked with exaggerated hip movement out the door into the restaurant to cut a slice of pie.

  Shane made a sheepish face at Neal. “Sorry about the wife. She’s been climbing the walls since being told she can’t leave. She’s bored, and you know how she gets.” He rolled his eyes as he took off his baker’s apron and went to hang it on the hook in the pantry.

  Neal grunted a response without saying anything, but Martha could tell he was on a slow simmer. She wondered if it might be better for everyone if he did blow. Tell Shane and Petra — especially Petra — what he thought of them. He’d feel better and maybe forgive her for this mess of a summer. She doubted that Shane and Petra were aware of the depth of his rage. He rarely reacted when provoked, and people wrongly surmised that he was a bowl of vanilla pudding. She’d been one of the few he’d let into his inner world and she’d squandered the privilege.

  She and Neal silently waited for Shane and Petra to return and drag stools over to sit around the island. The smell of onions, garlic, and turmeric lingered from Shane’s earlier food preparation. He pulled out a bottle of red wine and four glasses from one of the cupboards. “Thought we might need this,” he said, pouring generous amounts and handing everyone a glass.

  Nobody suggested clinking glasses or making a toast. What would they toast to anyway? Martha took a big gulp and felt a rush of heat go to her head.

  Neal made no move to pick up his drink. “So why’d you want us to get together?” He directed his question and sullen stare at Shane.

  Shane smiled an apology as if letting Neal know that the meeting was Petra’s idea. “A couple of things. We want to make sure we’re all solid, you know, with the police looking to pin Rachel’s murder on someone. So Petra and I thought it might be a good time to put what happened behind us — and I’m not talking about poor Rachel. It’s the end of our summer and the uh … misunderstanding earlier in July was unfortunate …” he paused and looked at Petra and then Neal. “But nobody’s to blame. Not really.”

  Petra took a drink and set down her glass. “What my husband is trying to say in his bumbling way is that there was no damage done … well, aside from your hurt ego, Neal, but believe me, what happened was inconsequential in the big scheme of life. Shane’s fine with it, so why can’t you get over the bit of fun? God knows, we could all use some in this boring outback.”

  Neal’s face reddened and Martha closed her eyes. She was about to get her wish that Neal get the anger off his chest, but knew that it was not going to end well. He spoke in a deadly quiet voice. “The three of you might not care about fidelity and commitment, but I happen to. Walking in on my wife in bed having sex with … another woman is not okay with me. It will never be okay with me, and I’m more relieved than I can say that in two weeks I’ll be free of the lot of you.” He picked up his glass and gulped down the wine in one go before standing. He kept his gaze firmly on Shane. “I have no idea how you put up with your slut of a wife, but my advice is to get out while you can.” The wineglass slipped through his fingers and smashed onto the floor. He stood for a moment looking blankly at the scattered pieces before turning and striding out of the kitchen. The slamming of the front door reverberated through the building.

  Martha sat statue-still. She could feel the tears gathering in her eyes and blinked to keep them from falling. Neal had barely spoken after he found her naked with Petra in one of the cottages or in the intervening weeks, making his outburst now even more brutal.

  Petra’s laughter filled the kitchen, bizarre after Neal’s condemnation. “He’s such a fucking prude. How did you ever tie yourself down with such an a-hole, Martha?”

  Martha flinched at her words. Shane shook his head at Petra. He reached over and grabbed on to Martha’s hand. “Don’t listen to her, cuz. Your marriage is none of our business.”

  Petra stopped laughing. Her face creased into a livid pout. “What the hell, Shane?”

  Martha could barely stand being in the kitchen with the two of them any longer. She shook off his hand and got to her feet. “I’m disgusted with myself, okay? That was the poorest decision of my life, and it’s no wonder Neal can barely stand to look at me. I have no idea how quickly you forgave us, Shane. You never acted like you minded at all.” For a split second, she saw pain in his eyes and realized the sacrifice he’d made by choosing to overlook Petra’s appetites. He had to accept her screwing around or she’d be gone, and he was addicted to her. Hot tears seeped out of the corners of her eyes. She nearly choked on her words. “You both don’t seem to get that Neal is my world. I won’t be able to keep Pine Hollow open without him. I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

  She covered her mouth with her fist and ran from the kitchen, through the restaurant, out the screen door, and into the night. She desperately wanted to chase after Neal, to beg his forgiveness, but stopped herself, knowing he’d be in no mood to hold a reasonable conversation. Instead, she forced herself to breathe deeply and calm down before she walked along the road to the path through the woods to the lake. She wasn’t spooked by the deep shadows or the dark branches rustling and swaying overhead. Moonlight illuminated the path enough, and anyway, she knew the trail like the back of her hand. She reached the open stretch of beach and crossed the sand to the outcropping of large boulders, climbing across them to the large flat one that overlooked the water. She sat and hugged her knees to her chest, rocking gently from side to side. She needed to think what to do next. How to turn the clock back to the time when Neal loved her. Back to the time when the ache in her chest didn’t threaten to destroy her sanity.

  Shane stared silently at Petra, shaken by the exchanges with Neal and Martha. His cousin had helped them out by giving him this job, and he was fond of her. He thought Neal a solid enough guy —liked a beer and had a good sense of humour when he felt the urge to talk. Neither of them had been prepared for Petra, he knew that. He couldn’t blame Martha for falling under her spell. Petra
had a way of getting inside your head. She’d been a free spirit when he met her and she’d said she’d settle down, but he’d learned soon enough that it wasn’t in her to be faithful. Her moods swung even when she was on medication. No amount of pharmaceutical drugs would make her believe in monogamy.

  He’d slept around, too, eventually tried to make the break from her, but he always found his way back. Most of the time he was at peace with whatever the hell kept him obsessed with her. The odd time jealousy got the better of him, but it was no use letting her know. Better to keep his secrets as she kept hers.

  “That went well,” she said and made a face. She climbed off the stool and went over to him, linking her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. He inhaled her scent and the familiar flush of desire made him relax into her. She ran her tongue up his neck and nipped his ear. Her voice was low and cajoling. Seductive. “I can’t wait to get out of this place. Promise me, baby, that you won’t agree to return here next summer.”

  “No need to worry your head about that. I can’t see us being invited back.”

  In one smooth motion, she swung herself sideways into his lap so that she was sitting squarely on his groin with her feet swinging above the floor, crossed at the ankles. “Who do you think killed Rachel?” she asked, sliding her hand up under his black T-shirt. She pulled back a bit so that she could see his face. He had the feeling she was looking for signs that he was lying.

  “I have no idea.”

  Her eyes bore into his. “You can tell me if you did anything … indelicate. I know how to keep secrets and I’m the last one to judge.”

  This was the closest she’d come to asking if he’d been sleeping with Rachel. She must really wonder, if she was breaking their unspoken code of silence when it came to their affairs. He liked the uncommon feeling of holding power over her. He took his time answering. “I’ll let you know when you have cause to worry.” He was rewarded with an uncertain look in her eyes that she covered up by leaning in to kiss him. He had questions he could ask her in return, but one hand was sliding under his shirt again and the fingers of her other were working his belt buckle. A few seconds later and he couldn’t form a coherent thought, let alone figure out how to get his wife to tell him the truth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Clark’s cellphone rang as Jordan handed him a cold beer from the fridge. He checked the caller and said before opening the line, “Give me a sec, Jordan. I gotta take this.” He walked out of the kitchen into the hallway and sat on the bottom step of the stairs leading to the second floor.

  “Hey, Stonechild. How did your day go?”

  “It went. I’m in town having supper.” He listened as she launched into her interviews with the Hydro workers. Bottom line: she hadn’t uncovered anything helpful, but everyone staying at the lodge had now been questioned so they could check that off the list. He heard Valerie on the landing above him and looked up. She’d started heavily down the stairs, holding on to the banister and treading carefully with each step. He stood to let her by and kissed her cheek as she manoeuvred past him. She’d only just woken up and the right side of her face was red with spidery lines from where she’d pressed into the pillow. She continued on into the kitchen and he could hear her greet Jordan and then the scraping of a chair into position before she sat down. He tried to focus on Stonechild’s voice.

  “So, any breakthrough with Faraday?” she asked, he realized for the second time.

  “Sorry. No, he denied doing more than photographing her that day. We found twelve photographs of her in total and all taken the same day, so maybe he told the truth. He says that he met her by accident one afternoon and she posed for him on the blanket in her bikini. He called the photos ‘art.’ We didn’t have enough to hold him, let alone charge him with her murder.”

  “Do you believe his story?”

  “He’s a creepy, self-important old man, but that’s not enough for a conviction. Hard to disprove what he said with Rachel gone.”

  “So back to the drawing board.”

  “That’s about the size of it. Rachel’s funeral is tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock at Father Vila’s church. Can I meet you there?”

  “Sure.”

  “We can compare notes afterward and come up with next steps. God knows we have enough suspects.” He felt weary thinking about the quagmire that lay before them.

  Her voice was confident. “We normally go through this despair before a breakthrough. I’ve just sent a file to you with my notes from today’s interviews. See you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  He tucked his phone into his pocket and joined Valerie and Jordan in the kitchen. They both glanced at him, but neither asked about the phone call. “How’re you doing, babe?” He bent and kissed Valerie before taking the seat next to her.

  “Exhausted, but I slept a few hours this afternoon. Jordan set up the furniture in the baby’s room.”

  Jordan said, “The three of you are ready to roll. My work here is done.” He grinned and raised the beer bottle to his lips.

  “You aren’t leaving, are you?” Valerie’s voice verged on desperate.

  “Not until I hold my new niece or nephew in my hands. You guys never asked what you were having?”

  “We like to be surprised,” said Clark. Later, he’d wonder if he’d poked the gods.

  At four in the morning he woke from a deep sleep, disoriented with his heart pounding. He was lying on his back, the blankets twisted around his legs. He’d been dreaming about a very-much-alive Rachel Eglan. She’d been about to tell him why somebody wanted her dead and he was searching for a pen and notebook. He kept telling her to hold on until Stonechild arrived.

  He rolled onto his side and reached for Valerie, but she was gone. He could hear water running and the bathroom light shone through the gap under the ensuite door. He got out of bed and crossed the floor. It took her a few moments before she answered his knock. She was wrapped in a towel, her face rosy from the hot bathwater. “I’m going to get dressed and then it’s time to go to the hospital,” she said. “The contractions are twenty minutes apart and getting stronger.”

  Adrenalin coursed through him like a gush of cold water even as he struggled to shake the bleariness from his head. “You should have woken me.”

  She smiled and patted his cheek. “There was nothing you could do except worry.” She walked over to the dresser and said, with her back turned, “Jordan asked to come to the hospital, too, so you should go wake him up. It’s time to get this party started.”

  At 1:00 a.m. Kala woke for no reason she could pinpoint with images from the day running like a movie through her mind. After an hour of tossing and turning, she gave up on sleep. Out from under the blankets the air was cool, and she slipped a denim shirt over her nightgown before leaving the bedroom. Taiku followed her into the living room and stretched out on the carpet while she stood in front of the picture window watching the moonlight shimmering across the inky-black lake. A breeze had come up since she’d gone to bed, and gentle waves rolled one after the other onto the shoreline. The pine and balsam tree boughs swayed to and fro while the wind rippled the elm and birch leaves.

  She thought about going outside but knew she’d never fall back to sleep if she did and would be exhausted working on the case the next day. Instead, she warmed up a mug of milk and sipped it on the couch with her head resting against the cushions so she could see the stars through the window. When she finally felt drowsy enough to give sleep another try, Taiku roused himself from the floor and padded behind her into the bedroom.

  Taiku’s growls startled her awake moments after she drifted off a second time. Before she could calm him, he’d leapt up from the rug and run barking from the bedroom. She threw back the covers and stumbled after him to the front of the cabin, her heart beating triple time. She skirted around the walls of the room and angled herself to look out the living-room window without being seen. Taiku stopped at the back door, his barks n
ow a rolling growl deep in his throat. The night looked still on the other side of the glass, and after watching the shadows for several minutes she crossed the hall to stand next to Taiku. She listened at the front door before yanking it open and stepping outside. Taiku shot past her, growling and sniffing along the pathway. He stopped at the edge of the woods. She called him back, worried about porcupines and skunks that wouldn’t take kindly to a dog interrupting their night prowls.

  They returned to bed, but she was now too on edge to fall back to sleep. Taiku wasn’t a dog that barked at shadows or stray animals. For the first time she wished that she’d packed her service revolver.

  The darkness was lifting and the birds had started their morning wakeup calls when she finally fell into a deep sleep. She woke startled out of a dream with the sun filling the bedroom. Taiku jumped up to nuzzle his nose into her neck and to get his morning head rub. Kala took a moment to shake off the grogginess. She picked up her phone from the bedside table and checked the time. “Oh no.” She’d slept through breakfast and had only an hour and ten minutes before she had to be at the church for Rachel’s service. She threw off the covers and swung her feet onto the floor. Even without eating, she was going to cut it tight.

  Kala slipped into a back pew, her entrance going largely unnoticed since the congregation was watching the choir gathered on the steps to the altar, singing a hymn, the name of which she didn’t know. The closed casket was in place on a raised pedestal in front of the altar, a cascade of lilies and roses draped over the pine top. The seats were packed with townspeople including Rachel’s classmates and their parents. She scanned the congregation but couldn’t see Clark. Rachel’s parents were sitting in the front pew with two red-headed young men who must be their sons. The other two couples with them looked to be grandparents. Darryl Kelly and his parents sat a few pews in front of her. Across the aisle, she located Reeve Judd Neilson and his wife, Elena, sitting with the Bococks. In front of them were the Pine Hollow Lodge owners, Neal and Martha Lorring, in the same pew but with an arm’s length of space between them. There was no sign of Shane and Petra Patterson or the Hydro workers. She glanced up as Thomas Faraday slipped into the pew next to her. His defiant blue eyes met hers and she quickly looked away. He sat slightly sideways so that she was in his line of vision. She was uncomfortably aware of him next to her although she pretended not to be affected by his presence — meant, she knew, to intimidate.