by Louise Clark
"I'm sure you're right," she said. Her tone sounded dubious to her. She hoped that Trevor wouldn't notice. She didn't want him to think that she didn't appreciate his pep talk. She did. But... she wasn't ready to accept it. Inner amusement at her silliness brought a smile to her mouth even as she changed the subject back to the reason he'd invited her out in the first place.
"There's another suspect we haven't considered, because he wasn't a member of our party."
Trevor accepted the change of subject with equanimity. "Someone who worked with her?"
Ellen nodded. "Charlotte Sawatzky mentioned that the general manager of the arena has a reputation for chatting up the female staff."
Trevor raised his eyebrows. "Just chatting up? Sure it isn't something more?"
"That's just it," Ellen said. "Chelsea told Charlotte he'd propositioned some of the girls. Not her, she said, but she was warned it might happen."
"Interesting. So you think that he made a pass? Then when she turned him down, he got rough?"
She nodded. "And things went further than he wanted or expected." When Trevor stared ahead without responding, she said, "It's a possibility, isn't it?"
After a minute, he nodded. "It is, but—" He broke off, shook his head, then began again. "This is the kind of thing the cops get wind of pretty quickly. My guess is they've focused on Kyle Gowdy because they've looked at, and discarded, guys like the general manager as viable suspects. Still," he added, sounding a little more enthusiastic, "it's worth adding him to our list. You never know, we may find something Patterson's overlooked."
"That would not be difficult," Ellen said in a tone that had the edge of a disdainful sniff to it.
Trevor laughed. He glanced at his watch. "Our table should be ready, fair lady. Would you care to join me for dinner?"
He gestured in the direction of the restaurant. Ellen realized that he'd guided them along a path that led directly there. She smiled at him, feeling freer and younger than she had in years. "I should be delighted, kind sir."
"Then we are away," Trevor said with a flourish, and swept her off to the elegant, and expensive, restaurant.
Chapter 13
The Oshalls lived in Port Coquitlam, a suburb about twenty minutes from Roy's Burnaby Mountain home. They were halfway there when Frank said, I'm not sure I like the idea of my aunt dating.
Roy glanced over at the cat.
Stormy was standing on the shotgun seat, paws on the door's armrest, staring out through the passenger window, watching the passing scenery. He appeared to be enjoying the outing. Frank sounded as if he was sunk in gloom.
"Trevor's a good guy," Roy said. There was the sound of a grunt in his mind. Roy wasn't sure if it was a disbelieving grunt or a disapproving one, but he got the picture. Frank was jealous. Ellen was, after all, the closest thing to a parent he'd had through most of his life. "People move on," he said.
Stormy's tail flicked. The cat abandoned the window, circled the seat, then stood stiffly, again facing the window. His ears went back and his tail twitched in an agitated way. Roy had the sense that the cat and Frank were having an argument. He waited for the outcome.
After a minute, Stormy's ears straightened and he went back to staring out the window. Roy wondered if his comment about people moving on had struck a nerve with Frank, so much so that he'd wanted to climb into the back seat to sulk. He thought about telling Frank to grow up, but decided it would be better to have a conversation about the issue instead. "Ellen ever date when you were a kid?"
Always. She was very social. There was a moment's hesitation before Frank continued. Her relationships never lasted very long. There was a time, soon after my parents died, when I wished she'd settle down so I could have a dad again. Then she sent me to boarding school and it didn't matter anymore.
Christy maintained that Frank was still here because he was dealing with issues from their marriage. Roy thought there was a lot more going on and it wasn't all related to the Trustees trashing Christy.
He wondered what Ellen had been like as a young woman. Had she, like Frank, had a relationship that the authority figures in her life disapproved of? Frank had married Christy. Had Ellen given in and ended an unsuitable romance? "What were your Jamieson grandparents like, Frank?"
I don't remember much about them. My grandfather died before I was born. My grandmother flitted in and flitted out until she died.
"When was that?"
A couple of years after my parents were killed in the car accident. About the same time I was sent to boarding school.
Interesting. If this were a novel, he'd make it a tragic love story. As a young woman, with the Jamieson good looks and a pile of money behind her, Ellen would fall in love with a sexy young stud who was completely unacceptable to her parents. They would use some sort of coercion or blackmail to force her to split with the fellow. After years mourning the end of her tragic romance she would learn to live again, but would never commit to another. Then her father died, and later her brother and his wife. She took on the care of her nephew and tried to find a partner, but wasn't willing to settle for a practical marriage that would never have the emotional element she'd lost in her youth. With her mother's death she had a fleeting opportunity to relive the relationship from her past, but it was not to be.
The plot was rough, of course, and there were holes, but the storyline at least explained some of Ellen's issues. It also suggested that Ellen might be open to a deep emotional relationship in the future. He wanted to believe that was possible. Trevor had been showing considerable interest in Ellen since he'd come over from Salt Spring to help prove she wasn't guilty of murder. He'd survived cancer. He didn't deserve to have his heart broken, instead.
The GPS beeped. A canned voice he'd nicknamed Jeeves, because of its snooty British accent, told him to turn right in eight hundred meters. He abandoned thoughts of Ellen and Trevor to refocus on driving and prepping Frank for the upcoming interview. "Bernie and Emily have little kids. I don't know if they'll still be up, or if they're cat trained. Tell Stormy to be good. He can't scratch, or bite. If the kids annoy him, he should run away or jump up where they can't reach him. I'll try to intervene, but little kids like cats, so we need to be prepared."
There was a brief silence. Stormy's tail flicked and he turned his head to look at Roy, his green eyes cold. Stormy knows the drill. He was a little offended that you would think he'd hurt a kid.
Jeeves' plummy voice sounded again with new directions, saving Roy from replying. When they reached the Oshall house, Stormy leapt out of the car through the driver's door and followed Roy up the front walk. Nice house, Frank observed as Roy rang the doorbell.
The Oshall's home was in an older area of Port Coquitlam. The property was larger than that found in more modern developments, and the trees and rhododendron bushes had grown large. The house itself was two-story, angular in design, and filled with windows to take advantage of light and shade. Emily answered the door, wearing black trousers and a white silk blouse. The smile on her lips warmed her eyes. "Hi. Come on in."
She stood aside to let Roy enter. He cleared his throat and said, "My cat stowed away. Do you mind if he comes in too?"
Emily looked down, her expression dubious. "Well, I..."
Stormy slithered past her ankles, rubbing against her as he went. His purr drowned out whatever she had meant to say. Her expression changed to delight and she reached down to pat the cat. The purr became louder. She glanced at Roy. "Can I pick her up?"
"It's a he and sure." Roy stepped into the house.
Emily lifted the purring Stormy. "What a lovely cat."
Roy shut the door and Emily led the way into the interior of the house, still cuddling the cat. "Bernie! Roy's here and he's brought his cat."
Bernie greeted them in the living room. "Good thing the dog is down in the basement watching television with the kids," he said.
Stormy's purr died off. Dog?
Maybe including Frank hadn't been such a g
reat idea. Arriving with your cat and bringing it inside was a bit odd, unless you knew that there was more to the cat than normal. And it appeared that Bernie and Emily weren't among those who could hear Frank talk, so they didn't know. "He jumped into the car without me noticing. I can put him back now..."
No way!
"No!" said Emily, still patting Stormy, who started to purr again.
Bernie, looking amused, said, "Emily loves animals of all kinds. I don't mind if he stays." He went on to offer coffee or a drink. Roy chose coffee and chatted with Emily while Bernie organized the coffee and checked to make sure the dog was safely focused on the kids.
Once they were all together, Bernie passed around the coffee mugs and offered cream and sugar. "You mentioned on the phone that you wanted to talk about the evening of the concert."
Roy nodded. "The cops suspect Kyle Gowdy, Hammer's brother, of causing that poor girl's death. That's got Hammer and Sledge upset."
"Such a sad thing," Emily said. Her attention was focused on Roy, but her fingers were still busy rubbing and stroking the cat. Stormy's purr vibrated through the room.
Roy nodded. "Trevor promised to do what he could to help Kyle," he said. Then he shrugged. "And I promised to help Trevor."
Bernie laughed. "Sounds reasonable. What do you want to know?"
"When you and Emily were talking to Quinn and Christy did you happen to notice what other people were doing?"
Bernie frowned. He looked over at Emily, whose expression was thoughtful. "I noticed Kyle and his wife by the food table. Jahlina, Hammer's girlfriend, came up from the seats and joined them," she said.
"I saw Vince talking to them at one point," Bernie said, nodding. He grimaced. "Vince had his back to Syd Haynes as if he was studiously ignoring him."
"Syd was sitting on the couch by the round table, right?"
Bernie nodded. "Stayed there the whole time, eating vegetables and staring at people."
Fun guy. Did he actually talk to anyone?
"Just after the band was on, I heard a sound behind me," Bernie added. He was frowning. "It sounded like a slap, though I have no proof it was. I turned to look and noticed that Chelsea was glaring at Mitch Crosier. Vince was standing inside the suite at that point, looking at the stage like the rest of us. I saw him glance around to see what had happened, I guess, and then he rushed over to separate Mitch and the girl. She looked really upset and so did Vince."
"I noticed too," Emily said. "Mitch was beet red. I'm not sure if he was embarrassed or furious, though."
"Could be either," Roy said. "Where was Kim? Did she know what Mitch was up to?"
Bernie shook his head. "She was down in the front having a great time dancing to the band. Syd, though, was watching. He just sat there, taking it all in, not getting involved."
"Did you see him talking to anyone?"
Emily looked at Bernie, then said, "Kim spoke to him at one point, and Bernie introduced me to him. We exchanged greetings and he mentioned Homeless Help, but he didn't say much else. He wasn't rude, but I got the impression he didn't think we were worth bothering with because we weren't likely to provide a donation for his charity."
Bernie nodded. "I think he was uncomfortable. Kyle Gowdy told me Sledge invited him because he thought it was time to bury the past, but it was clear that Vince didn't like Syd and Mitch wasn't interested in him. Or in Homeless Help for that matter. Hammer's family was reserved toward him, too. Trevor was friendly, and Syd was friendly back, but I think he accepted the invitation because he thought there was a networking opportunity that wasn't happening and he regretted coming."
"I remember him being rather shy as a teenager," Roy said. "Not good at asserting himself. That's why he turned to drugs."
"Not shy," Bernie said. "Self absorbed. He was never in the wrong back then. When Vince told Sledge and Hammer that Syd had to go, he blamed them, not himself and the drugs."
"It's tough getting straight," Roy said. "He's changed since then."
Bernie drank coffee. "Yeah, I suppose."
There was a moment of quiet, filled by the purr of the cat. "Why are the cops looking at Kyle for the murder?" Bernie asked finally.
Kyle Gowdy's juvenile record was his own affair, so Roy wasn't about to mention it, but the question provided him with the perfect opening for a question of his own. "There was a delay between the end of the concert and his arrival at the meet and greet. He says he was using one of the public washrooms. The detective isn't buying that." He raised his brows and said reflectively, "I have to admit, it does seem odd when there was a perfectly good private washroom in the suite."
Emily laughed. "And a line up. Bernie did the same thing as Kyle. While I waited to use the one in the suite, he went out to the public ones."
"Yeah, and they were busy too," Bernie added with a laugh. "Took me longer than Em."
Well that explained the delay for the Oshalls, and maybe for Kyle as well. "Have the cops interviewed you two?"
Emily nodded. "The day after the murder a Detective Patterson came to see us."
"We told her the same thing we just told you," Bernie said. There was sympathy in his eyes. "So she knows about the line ups for the bathrooms and the delay they caused."
Roy grimaced. "Too bad. I thought we were on to something there."
Did they tell her about this guy Mitch and the slap?
Roy barely resisted the urge to say, "Good thought." He caught himself and changed the beginnings of a word into the clearing of his throat. "Did you mention what you told me about Mitch?"
Bernie looked at Emily, who frowned. It was she who said, "No, I don't think we did."
Roy brightened. "It could be nothing, of course, but it might be worth following up." He stood. "Thanks for talking to me."
Emily and Bernie stood too. Emily put Stormy onto the ground and he pranced beside Roy as they left the house. "Nice couple," Roy said as he let the cat into the car, then slid into his seat and buckled his seatbelt.
Didn't help much.
Roy tapped the steering wheel. "Odds are that it's not one of our group who killed the girl. Kyle Gowdy is a suspect, but he may not be the only person Patterson is looking at." He started the car. "Let's hope so, anyway."
Chapter 14
Nice house. It was the next day and once again Stormy stood on the passenger seat, this time with his front paws on the dashboard as he stared out the windshield.
Roy stared out the windshield too. He tended to agree with the cat. It was a nice house, if you liked big houses that had gates, three stories, and were constructed of red brick in a neo-Georgian style. Add in some ivy snaking its way up the brick and you had a traditional appearance that proclaimed old family wealth. Roy preferred something smaller with a lighter look, but that was him. Big houses were hard to maintain and gates were a pain in the ass.
The little box on a pillar just before the gates squawked. "Roy Armstrong for Mitchell Crosier," he said, as someone inside the building demanded his name and reason for being at the gate.
There was some static, then the voice said, "Enter," as the gates slowly swung open.
"What does Crosier have that he has to go to so much effort to protect it?" Roy said, eying the gates critically as he drove through the widening space. He kept the pace slow in deference to the cat, who was still on his hind legs, paws on the dashboard, taking in everything he could.
We had gates at the mansion. They gave the place a nice cozy feel, because you knew you were safe in your own space once they were closed behind you.
"Huh," Roy said. "I never thought of it that way." He was both pleased and wary about this visit. He had been trying to figure out a way to arrange a meeting with Mitch Crosier that wouldn't make the man suspicious about his motives, or worse, hostile at being questioned, but nothing he came up with had that note of authenticity he needed. Then Crosier himself had called last night while he'd been out in Port Coquitlam talking to Bernie and Emily Oshall. He left a message asking if Roy wou
ld like to come over to his house for drinks about five the next day. Roy had called him back this morning to accept and here he was.
The drive curved as it neared the front of the house, then widened to allow parking. He mulled over the concept of locking yourself into a walled compound and how that might influence characterization as he pulled the small car into a spot between a Ferrari and a Mercedes and parked. "Okay," he said, wagging a finger at the cat. "Remember, you're a stowaway. And you're claustrophobic. You'll wreck the interior of my car if I leave you inside, so that's why I want to bring you in the house."
The cat stared at him with unblinking eyes, then his front paws flexed, his claws came out and he began to knead. Got it.
He shook his head. "Tell Stormy he doesn't have to show me. I'm on it." He opened the door and climbed out. Stormy followed, leaping past him, so that he pranced ahead as they walked toward the imposing front door.
Roy rang the bell. Stormy sat on his haunches and cleaned a paw, the picture of detached boredom. The heavy redwood door opened with more force than appeared to be strictly necessary. The person manipulating it was Kim Crosier and in Roy's well-informed opinion, she was high as a kite.
"Roy Armstrong!" She opened her arms wide, as if she was about to embrace him. Roy took a step back. "So delightful to have you visit us!"
Roy thought she'd be delighted if a bylaw officer showed up at her door, there to complain her gates were encroaching on public property. He told himself he was being uncharitable, so he smiled and said, "Hi Kim. Thanks for inviting me."
"Come in. Come in," she said, abandoning the thwarted embrace and instead swinging her arms in a sweeping motion to usher him inside.
"Sure," Roy said, and stepped cautiously into the house. Stormy slipped past his ankles and made it into the hallway as Kim was flinging the door shut.
"Oh," she said. Her eyes lit up, even brighter than before, if that was possible. "What a sweet kitty. Is it yours, Roy?"