by Susan Calder
“Was Isabelle aware of your situation?” she said.
“She couldn’t have missed it. Callie was glad to have her move in last spring. She liked the company. In her weird way, Isabelle fit right in.”
“With Callie, or you?”
His eyes narrowed and, to her surprise, crinkled in amusement. “I’m not suicidal. Isabelle’s high maintenance. She also has a father who would take out my liver if I laid a hand on her.” He stared directly into her eyes. “Besides, I’m not interested. For all my faults, I prefer women my own age.”
She looked away and let go of the pendant she had, apparently, being toying with. They stood to let a group returning from the intermission squeeze by. The second period began. The action on the ice was too slow for even Sam’s attention.
“Are the police aware of your living arrangement?” she said.
“They looked through the house. I knew it would have been obvious from her bedroom and other stuff, so I leveled with them. I think they’re satisfied I didn’t kill her in a passionate rage.”
“You said you were the prime suspect.”
The collective murmur in the arena rose. Sam turned his gaze to the fight on the ice. The referees pulled two players off each other. The police must figure Sam’s motive was money. He would inherit the house Callie had bought. A million dollars was a lot of money, even for someone with his income. And he could have debts, a gambling addiction . . . The cops would be checking every cranny of his life. It was strange that Sam didn’t deny he had killed Callie. Maybe he felt there was no point in denying, since he would claim innocence whether he did it or not. Likewise, he would say he wasn’t involved with Isabelle and, in Paula’s view, that was still the most likely problem Callie had wanted to discuss with her. Something immediate might have happened to make Callie call on impulse from the trail. Isabelle pregnant?
The crowd cheered and groaned at a near goal. The ice action died down again. Sam asked about her daughters, switching the conversation to her. She passed it back to him and found out he had offered to marry Anne those thirty-one years ago when she told him she was pregnant. She turned him down because “She knew I wasn’t marriage material.” Dimitri was born two months after Sam’s mother died. That’s what he had meant by timing. He didn’t expect to become involved with the baby, but guessed he wanted something to hang onto. Anne chose the name, Dimitri, because it was different. She baptized him with her surname. When he was ten, she married and asked Dimitri if he wanted to remain a Hawthorn or take his father’s name. She had meant his stepfather, and was “a little pissed” when he opted for Sam’s surname.
Sam chuckled. “Anne couldn’t go back on it, since she gave him the choice and wanted him to accept her marriage. Doug’s been a real father to him. I’m somewhere between a father and friend.”
“Anne’s told me many times how much she appreciated your help with Dimitri all these years,” Paula said. “She says you gave up a job in the States to move closer to him.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It was also a handy excuse to escape a woman I was living with at the time.” In response to her probing, he confessed to having lived with four, no five, women in his life. The longest arrangement had lasted three years.
The hockey game second period ended. The intermission entertainment would be a wild chicken run. People in chicken costumes slid onto the ice. Men set up barrels. Rather than watch the chickens chase around, Paula chose to walk in the concourse with Sam. He bought a third beer; she’d had enough. As they were leaving the concession stand, Sam was hailed by a client. He introduced him to Paula. She recognized the name as one of the city’s construction giants.
The man expressed his condolences to Sam. “Glad to see you’re not letting it get you down.” He shot a questioning glance at Paula. “I mean, naturally, you’re . . .” His voice trailed. He said good-bye and returned to the arena.
“That was a bit awkward,” Sam said.
His suppressed smile made her think he was glad to have been noticed in public with her.
Sam steered the Acura onto her quiet, dark street. The timer light glowed from Paula’s living room, making the place look occupied. That wouldn’t ensure her safety, if the danger was in this car. She had learned quite a bit about Sam tonight, but nothing that brought her closer to knowing whether or not he had murdered Callie. He parked in front of Walter’s pickup. Light from the street lamp flickered across Sam’s face as he said how much he had enjoyed the evening. “Even though we talked about the murder, it felt like a break.”
Paula thanked him for inviting her to the game. “I’d forgotten how much I like them.” Not that she had absorbed more than a few minutes of the play.
“We should do it again sometime.”
“I don’t think so.”
His forehead creased. She touched the door handle, preparing to leave. Hayden was right. From now on, she would leave the detecting to the detectives. Did Sam know she was seeing someone? She hadn’t once mentioned Hayden’s name. That was equivalent to his removing his wedding ring.
He rested his hands on the steering wheel. “Felix and I are planning a hike in Kananaskis this Saturday. It would be another break, a real getaway. He and Callie were good friends. I think he’s more broken up about this than I am. It would be more fun if you came along.”
Felix again. If Paula spent a whole day with him and Sam, she could learn a lot. What was the matter with her? Hadn’t she just decided she would let the police do the figuring out? Hayden wouldn’t tolerate being dropped a second time for Sam. “I can’t.”
“You don’t have to decide right away,” he said. “I’ll call you later this week.”
Sam had been Callie’s husband, albeit estranged, according to him, and Callie, her friend, had been dead less than week. Paula was committed to Hayden. Sam’s attitude toward his father and the woman he dumped in the States was a warning flag. Romantic involvement with him was not an option.
The street light rippled across Sam’s forehead lines. She could almost see his mind churning in thought. His lips tightened, apparently, in decision. She waited for the revelation.
“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said.
That was it? “Don’t bother.” That was sharp. Tough. He deserved it.
“You can leave the decision about Kananaskis to the last minute.”
“I’ve decided now.”
“A lot could happen between now and then.”
Despite her protests, he got out of the car. They passed through her gate on their way to the porch. In another life, she would have invited him in for coffee. Good chance they would have wound up in bed. But the complications were there. So were his lips and eyes framed by laugh wrinkles, his high cheekbones, and his solid chin. Under the porch light, he leaned toward her.
She drew back, her lips tingling, and banged her leg on the railing. She muttered good night. He said he’d call her Friday about Kananaskis and trotted down the stairs, seemingly undisturbed. She wished she’d given him a shove.
Without watching him drive off, she entered the house and closed the door to the sound of the revving of his car engine. The living room seemed unusually bright. She set her purse next to the box of candles he had brought, hung up her jacket and unlaced her sneakers. Light was shining into the room from the hall. Had she forgotten to turn that light off? Footsteps sounded in the kitchen. Paula grabbed the candle box. The steps moved to the hall. She raised the box to hurl it. A figure entered the doorframe.
Paula gasped. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter Thirteen
“Do you want popcorn?” Isabelle said. “I was putting a bag in the microwave when you came in.”
Paula realized she was still holding the candles. She placed the box on the console table, still shaken by the apparition in a fuchsia tank top and yoga pants. “How did you get in? I’m sure I locked the doors. I spent Saturday installing bars on my basement windows.”
“The man next door use
d his key.”
“Walter?”
“Whatever. He’s old. He saw me ringing your bell and yelled from his porch.”
“Walter has a key?”
“He wasn’t sure it would work. He thought you might have changed the locks after you moved in.” Isabelle brushed her blond hair behind her shoulders. “I’ll make one bag of popcorn. We can always do more.”
Presumably, the previous owners had given her neighbor a key. Neither they, nor Walter, nor her realtor had mentioned that little fact. How many times had Walter offered to pick up her newspapers and mail when she was away? Never once had he said he had a key, or that he’d put the papers and mail in her house. He had kept this from her deliberately. She would give him shit about letting strangers in. Paula strode through the living room to the kitchen.
Isabelle was searching through the fridge. “Do you have any real Coke? I only see Diet.”
“You’re out of luck.”
“I can drink Diet, then.”
“Why aren’t you at Felix’s place?”
Isabelle peered over the fridge door. She had the widest blue eyes. “I didn’t feel like staying there overnight.”
“Why not?” Paula passed behind Isabelle to check the side door lock. Her business card lay on the kitchen table. She had given one to Isabelle today. “That’s how you knew where I lived.”
“It took two buses to get here,” Isabelle said. “I could have walked as fast, but I had my bag and this area’s kind of creepy after dark.”
“What time did you get here?”
“About nine o’clock. It was your card that convinced the man next door I was legit. You wouldn’t give your card to everyone.”
“I do. I give it to everyone.”
“He said you’d gone out with a man in a red car. I told him that was Sam and explained I was Callie’s niece. He knew all about her and you being friends. He said it was nice of you to ask me to move in with you after she died.”
“I did not ask you to move in. I said to call if you ran into trouble.”
“What good would calling do when you were out?”
“My cell number’s on the card.”
Isabelle’s eyelashes flickered. “I didn’t think of that.”
Paula’s heartbeat had returned to normal. So, Isabelle wanted to move in. Why? Had Felix done something? Paula couldn’t seriously see Isabelle as a murderer, even though she was probably on the suspect list. “While I change, can you get a bottle of red wine from the basement? It’s at the foot of the stairs, on the shelves to the right.”
“I had enough booze at Felix’s,” Isabelle said.
“The wine’s for me.” Paula opened the door for Isabelle. Even with the light on and the window bars, she didn’t envy Isabelle’s tread down that staircase tonight. And she herself wouldn’t feel completely comfortable in this house, accessible to people like Isabelle and Sam, until the murder was solved.
In the bathroom, a pink comb trailed long, blond hairs onto the sink. More strands clung to the basin. Paula washed them down the drain. Isabelle’s toothbrush nestled next to hers. This wasn’t a two-person counter. Bath oils Paula didn’t recognize lined the shelf by the claw foot tub. Isabelle had brought her essentials.
A tote bag spilled thongs, shorts, and CDs onto the den’s single bed. A trio of pastel Beanie Babies perched on the pillow. Isabelle had helped herself to Paula’s laptop and had, evidently, spent part of the past hour on MSN, chatting with friends in Montreal. Her last entry read, My dad’s been hassling me since I got here. He might have good reason.
It felt good to get out of her bra and into her sleep-shirt. Even better would be a crawl into the sheets, but no way could Paula sleep before she cleared up some details with Isabelle. She followed the popcorn smell to the kitchen, closing the basement door on the way. Isabelle opened the steaming bag and dumped the popcorn into bowls. Paula uncorked the merlot. She carried the food tray to the living room ottoman. The light timer had clicked off.
Isabelle wandered to the wall unit and picked up the monkey candle. “We can light this.”
“No, it’s too cute to burn.”
“The back of its shirt is gouged. It only has one eye. Did you drop it?”
“Let’s turn on the regular lights. I spent all night in a dark arena.”
Isabelle returned the monkey to the shelf. “How was your date with Sam?”
“It wasn’t a date. Why didn’t you stay with Felix?”
Isabelle settled into the armchair. “Stuff. Mostly, his drinking and acting weird.”
Paula turned on the table lamp. Isabelle twirled a strand of hair, dipping it into her tank top. Her navel peeked out of her skin-tight yoga pants. She and Felix had been drinking.
Isabelle dug her hand into the popcorn bowl. “His guns were creeping me out.”
“You seemed all right with them this afternoon.”
“That was daytime. My room had no door. What if Felix went psycho and came upstairs to murder me?”
“What made you think he’d go psycho?”
Isabelle munched popcorn. “After you left, the detectives came by. They sent me upstairs so they could talk to Felix alone. I tried to listen, but they were too far away. When they finished with him, they called me down and asked about . . . stuff. They didn’t grill me as long as Felix. I don’t know why. I’m as much of a suspect as he is.”
“Are you?” Paula picked up the merlot from the tray.
Isabelle wiped her greasy fingers on her pants. “I don’t have an alibi. I was asleep when Callie was killed, but I could have snuck out. Sam was in the basement and wouldn’t have seen me.”
“Which means you wouldn’t have seen him sneaking out.”
“None of us has alibis. Like Felix says, at six thirty in the morning everyone’s either alone or sleeping with someone who’d lie for them.”
Paula took a sip. “What did the police grill you about?”
Isabelle chewed pink glitter from her fingernail. “If Sam and I had some kind of deal about my staying with him.”
“Did you?”
“My dad made him change his mind. Sam said I could move in with Felix, which I thought was better, only it turned out it wasn’t.”
Sam and Isabelle had done an adequate job of coordinating stories. Paula set the tray on the floor so she could prop her legs on the ottoman. “Do you know what they asked Felix?”
Isabelle’s eyes widened. “They found out who owned the gun that murdered Callie.” She paused for effect. “It was Sam’s father.” She waited. “You don’t look surprised.”
“Sam told me about it.”
Isabelle’s face dropped in disappointment.
Paula picked up a piece of popcorn. After her small dinner, this tasted good.
Isabelle resumed eating. “It’s weird about him sticking the gun in a jar with Sam’s mother’s ashes.”
“It was more like a vase.”
“Felix says Sam’s father loved Sam’s mother totally.” Isabelle raised her leg and twirled her foot clad in a ballet slipper. “Felix thinks Sam messes up his romances with women because they don’t measure up to the one he imagines his parents had.”
Paula finished her glass of wine. She could learn a lot about Sam from Isabelle. She made a guess about the cops’ reduced grilling of Isabelle. “Why did they question Felix, and not you, about the gun?”
“They wanted to know where he was Friday night, when the person witnessed the killer tossing the gun in the Bow River. Felix said he was home alone. That’s kind of suspicious when he has all these friends. They were phoning all afternoon.”
“About what?”
“Mostly about his writing work. Boring.”
Paula poured herself another glass of wine. Two would be enough on top of her two glasses of beer. With a witness to the probable disposal of the gun, the murderer needed two alibis. “Where was Sam Friday night?”
Isabelle licked butter from her fingers. “That was the night I
quit my job at the video store. Sam drove me there around nine. He went home, I guess.” She started. “I couldn’t have done it. They could alibi me at work.” Her face dropped. Another disappointment.
Paula ate a handful of popcorn. “What else did the detectives ask Felix?”
Isabelle bit the skin around her index fingernail, like Callie used to do when she was deep in thought. Clearly, the cops considered Felix a major suspect. Isabelle was either innocent or a gifted actress.
“He was too freaked to tell me much about it,” Isabelle said. “Do you want more popcorn? There was hardly anything to eat at his house. I finally found a can of Alphaghetti and had to look all over for the pots and pans. He doesn’t keep them where you’d logically think. I opened a drawer and there was this gun staring up at me. I freaked. Felix told me, don’t worry, you have to cock the safety to use it and he hides the bullets in the cupboard above the stove, but I mean, shit.”
Paula finished her second glass of wine. Since she was feeling no effects, she poured a third. “In what way was Felix freaked?”
Isabelle shrugged her bony shoulders. “He kept staring at his guns in the wall racks and drinking. He took out that old gun he showed you and me and turned it over and over in his hand. I let him make me some screwdrivers, figuring it would help if I joined in.” She adjusted her tank top strap.
“Did Felix make a pass at you?”
Isabelle looked up. “No. That would be gross.”
“What about you and Sam?” Paula tensed, dreading the answer more than she should. Her hunch that Callie’s problem was Isabelle’s pregnancy made perfect sense. Isabelle’s stomach couldn’t be flatter, but she wouldn’t show for the first few months.
Isabelle fingered up the dregs from her popcorn bowl. “My dad asked me that, too. Why do old people always think these things? He’ll be glad when I tell him I moved in with you.”
“It’s only temporary. Did Sam—”
Isabelle jumped up. “I’ll go make some more popcorn.”
Was she hungry or avoiding an answer or eating for two? Paula gnawed the corn kernels that hadn’t totally popped. She was exhausted and half drunk, but before bed she had to find out about Sam and Isabelle. Isabelle returned with the fresh batch. Paula held out her bowl for a topping up. The wine was making her light-headed.