by Susan Calder
Bev’s haircut was 1920s flapper-style. She wore a man’s tailored shirt tucked into beige, linen slacks. Her broad shoulders and muscular limbs made her seem taller than six-foot-two. The hallway’s ceramic tiles flowed into a kitchen. Its black cupboards and appliances matched the adjacent family room’s black walls.
The dogs were a good distraction. Paula squatted to pat one. “Are these shih tzu?” A second dog nuzzled in. “What are their names?”
“Tao, Xiang, Chu-Hua and Fred.”
Paula laughed. This wouldn’t work if she couldn’t reign in the nervousness. A third dog squeezed through the others and almost toppled her.
“My husband chose little Fred’s name.” Bev’s voice rose to a baby pitch. “Him’s hurt his paw jumping off Mommy’s and Daddy’s bed.” The tone sounded weird on someone her size. The voice plummeted to normal. “I can see you’re a dog-person.”
Paula untangled herself from the shih tzu. “We had a family dog. My daughter kept her when I moved into my new place. I miss her. The dog, I mean. I miss my daughter, too. Sometimes.”
Bev smiled as much as plastic surgery would allow. “What breed is she? I mean the dog.”
“Mutt, German shepherd-ish.” So what if Bev caught onto the ruse. All she could do was throw Paula out.
Bev took a knife from the chopping block and cut into a pan of apple strudel. She placed two plates with strudel and glasses of cappuccinos on a tray.
Paula followed her to the family room. “Black paint in a house is different. Your decor seems to have an Asian theme.”
“You think?” Bev opened the patio window blinds, exposing a Japanese garden with bonsai trees, ponds, waterfalls, and bridges back-dropped by distant downtown high-rises.
“What a lovely yard,” Paula said. “I like those lion statues guarding the pathway entrance.”
“They’re lion dogs. Shih tzu, to ward off evil spirits.” Bev carried a cappuccino and pate of strudel to the sofa facing the patio doors. She lifted Fred onto a cushion.
This left Paula the love seat. She faced a fireplace flanked by enormous painted silk wall hangings, one of a pagoda, the other a pair of giggling geisha. Two of the dogs trotted out of the family room; a third one settled on the Oriental carpet. Paula balanced her plate on her lap. The situation felt similar to an interview with an insurance claimant—aside from the creepiness and the fact she was here under a false pretence to discuss murder, not whiplash or theft. Bev stretched her long legs on the sofa’s built-in hassock. Fred snuggled next to her.
Paula finished a first bite of strudel. “This is delicious. Did you make it?”
“My cleaning lady did,” Bev said. “Let’s cut to the chase. Why are you here?”
“I’m an insurance adjuster who has been retained—”
“Cut the crap.” Bev’s lips curled into a peculiar smile. “What’s your interest in Callie’s murder? More importantly, what’s my interest in someone I haven’t seen in years?”
Hands shaking, Paula set her plate on the coffee table and grabbed her cappuccino glass for support. Fred’s eyes peered through strands of fur, following her movements. Bev would have had all night to consider the logic of Paula’s police outsourcing pretext. Paula had thought it through all night as well.
“You must have heard about the city’s shortage of police staff?” she said.
“The cops are always complaining so they’ll get more money.”
“It makes sense for trained civilians to handle minor police work matters, in this case, interviewing outside witnesses.”
“How did you get my name?”
Paula sipped cappuccino to appear hesitant. “From Kenneth Unsworth, Callie’s ex-husband, who lives a few blocks from here.”
Bev’s forehead grew impossibly tighter. She strode toward Paula, who forced herself not to cringe. Wafting spicy perfume, Bev took her cigarettes and lighter from the coffee table. She held the pack out to Paula.
Paula hesitated. Even during the highest stress of her divorce, she hadn’t slipped off the track. Bev’s smirk taunted: goody-two-shoes. This was so high-school, but could be good for bonding and calming her nerves. Paula slid the cylinder from the pack. Bev lit the cigarette for her. Paula dragged on it. Bitter. She willed herself not to cough, as she had that first time she and Callie tried it behind her house.
Bev returned to her seat next to Fred. “So, this is about me and Sam.”
Paula coughed. She bit the cigarette tip to stop.
“Have you told the police?” Bev said.
“Not yet.” Damn. That implied the cops hadn’t sent her.
Bev’s red lips crooked up in a smile.
“I presume Kenneth has kept quiet, too, or the real cops would have come after me.”
Paula flicked the cigarette into the ashtray. The shih tzu on the carpet buried his muzzle in his paws. Fred appeared to be dozing.
“That is precisely why I stayed home to meet you,” Bev said. “My involvement with Sam is irrelevant to Callie’s murder. Why spoil dearly departed Callie’s happily married image?”
Paula dragged on the cigarette to stall. “Are you sleeping with Sam?”
“No.”
“That’s not what Kenneth said.”
Bev stroked Fred’s flowing mane. “Our affair ended two months ago.”
“When did it start?”
“January.”
Six months. “How often did you meet?”
Bev drew on her cigarette, not replying.
Paula looked at the Asian screens. “Did you meet here?”
“God no, never. I’m not nuts. We met in hotels.”
“What ended the affair?”
Bev shrugged and flashed a smile that was probably meant to be worldly. “They always end.”
“Did Callie or your husband find out?”
Bev stood, causing Fred to slither down the sofa. He dropped to the carpet with a yap of pain and hobbled to a collection of rubber toys by the window. Two other dogs ran into the room. One joined Bev on the sofa; the other sniffed the strudel on the coffee table.
“Chu-Hua has a sweet tooth,” Bev said. “He usually ends up eating half the pan.”
Paula inhaled the cigarette. She had never been hooked on the taste. What had kept her smoking through her twenties was the feel of the cigarette in her hand, its link to coffee and the fact most of the people in her Montreal office smoked. She gave it up mainly to set a good example for her kids.
Paula had got what she came for: confirmation of Bev’s and Sam’s affair. This was a murder case. Nothing could convince her to keep this from the police. She should finish her snack and drink and smoke as fast as possible and get out.
Bev dragged on her cigarette. “My husband and I are a couple in every sense of the word, but have our separate needs.” Smoke billowed from her nostrils. “He appreciates other women. I appreciate other men. We have two ground rules: safe sex and discretion. We’re both prominent in the community and do not wish to be the subject of gossip.”
“Unfortunately, that’s hard to avoid when your lover’s wife is murdered.”
“Ex-lover.”
“Did Sam break it off or did you?”
Bev’s lips smiled; her eyes stayed hard. “I wish I could say it was me. I accepted Sam’s decision and moved on. It turned out to be extremely easy.”
“No hard feelings?”
“If you think I was angry and murdered Callie in a jealous rage, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” Fred’s ears perked up. Bev patted the head of the dog beside her. “Had I still been sleeping with Sam at the time, which I wasn’t, the last thing I would have wanted was Callie’s death. I only date married men.”
“No commitment?”
“Singles go into it agreeing to no strings, but they have this habit of getting involved and trying to ruin my marriage, when my marriage satisfies me in every other respect.”
Coming from Bev, it seemed strangely believable. “Why did Sam break up with you?�
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Bev squeezed her eyes shut. Had her pride been hurt and not yet recovered? The dog crawled onto Bev’s lap. Chu-Hua nuzzled Paula’s legs. She patted the love seat, inviting him to join her. Fred, on the floor, looked back and forth between her and Bev. The fourth dog gnawed a hard plastic rope.
Bev stroked Tao or Xiang. “Sam told me he wanted to work on his marriage. I didn’t believe it, but when a man doesn’t want me, I don’t beg.”
“Why didn’t you believe him?”
“I have an instinct about men who are basically alone. There was no marriage to work on.”
This fit Sam’s and Isabelle’s reports. “Aren’t men in empty marriages at risk for getting involved?”
“Not the ones I pick.”
Something else Isabelle had said. “Did Sam wear a wedding ring when you and he met?”
“At the hotels? No. Before that? I don’t recall him wearing a ring. For men, it’s a personal choice.”
According to Isabelle, Sam only started wearing one after Callie’s death.
“I see you’re not married,” Bev said.
“Divorced.” Paula butted out her cigarette. “What did Sam tell you about his marriage?”
“Before your divorce, did you have affairs?”
“No.”
“Too bad, they can be refreshing.” Bev’s lip curled. “You would also know that cheating spouses avoid discussing their partners.”
“I hear some talk obsessively about the spouse.”
“What would be the purpose of that? Sam told me nothing about his marriage. I assumed the spark died and he looked elsewhere. Old story.”
Paula scratched Chu-Hua under the ear. She might like a dog if they weren’t so much work and didn’t tie you down and shed over everything, like these slacks she would be wearing to work. “If the affair was over, why did you phone Sam after Callie’s murder?”
“To find out what he told the cops so I could be ready for any police visits. Sam forgot to warn me about insurance adjusters.”
Paula smiled. She could enjoy Bev, in small doses. “When you were together what did you and Sam talk about?”
Bev snubbed out her cigarette. “We weren’t much into talk.”
Paula felt herself blush, which would confirm Bev’s goody-goody image of her. “Did he ever mention his son, Dimitri?”
Bev’s eyebrows rose, “The politician? He ran for office last spring. Sam mentioned him occasionally. Why?”
“What did he say about him?”
Bev slid a new cigarette from the pack, without offering to share this time. “He seemed fond of him, as parents are, and proud of his achievements, although I don’t think Sam’s into politics. More cappuccino or strudel?”
Paula shook her head. “Do you think Sam is capable of murder?”
“I believe anyone is, if pushed to his or her limits.”
“What are Sam’s limits?”
“I wouldn’t know. Ours was not a soul mates affair, which is why there is no point dragging me into this. I can’t tell the police anything of relevance. It’s over between me and Sam. I didn’t kill Callie to get him and he sure as hell didn’t kill her to get me.”
Such anger hinted at more than damaged pride.
Bev shuddered. “It would be horrible to have this splashed in the press.”
“You could ask the police to keep it quiet.”
“Would you trust them? I don’t. Some cop will leak it to the media, which adores taking down the successful and rich.” Bev looked at Fred on the carpet. His ears wriggled with her rising voice. She lowered it to the husky drawl. “About five years ago, the newspaper published a photo taken at an architecture awards gala. This was before our affair, when I knew Sam casually. I was wearing high heels. He stood a little behind me, and with the perspective and my heels he looked like, well, Xiang here trying to hump a Great Dane.”
Paula laughed.
“All of Calgary will laugh if they dig that picture up from the archives. And they will. Do I want that photo staring at me beside that image of sweet, dead Callie? I’d be Camilla to her Lady Di.”
Tao bounded to the sofa. After several attempts, he hoisted himself onto the cushion.
“You’re going to tell the cops about me,” Bev said.
“I’m not sure.”
“Or do you plan to use this against Sam?”
“I wouldn’t blackmail.”
“Or do you want something else from him?” Bev drew on the cigarette. Her unlined face scrutinized Paula so intently that Paula turned to Chu-Hua. The dog’s eyes closed as she scratched beneath his ears. Paula wanted nothing from Sam for herself. She was doing this for Callie.
Smoke streamed from Bev’s perfect nose. “If you stay away from the cops, I’ll tell you something interesting.”
Lots of deals were being made these days.
“It concerns Sam,” Bev said. “This might encourage you to keep it from the cops for a few days, while you investigate a little more.”
Paula wondered if she was still doing this only for Callie. She would ponder that later. “Okay.”
“What is your connection to Callie and Sam?”
“What is it you have to say?”
Bev mashed out her cigarette. “If I were you, I’d be interested to know why Kenneth hasn’t told them.”
“Kenneth Unsworth? Callie’s ex-husband?”
“He has a dog,” Bev said. “A golden retriever he walks every day along the same route through this neighborhood. You could set your watch by it. Being naturally curious about the murder, I decided to run into him yesterday, and took Chu-Hua and Tao.” The latter looked up at the mention of his name, his tongue out of his mouth. He panted as though in agreement. “We met up with Kenneth. I gave him my Callie condolences. He spewed appropriate replies and looked miserable, like a basset hound. I had this urge to cheer him up and tried to think of something nice to say.”
Nice and Bev didn’t mesh.
“I thought, if my husband ever ditched me, I’d want his romance to tank. So, I told Kenneth I knew with certainty there was nothing between Callie and Sam. Kenneth asked how I could be so sure. I told him about my affair. He looked surprised.”
“I’m surprised you’d reveal it.”
“I don’t know what came over me. I thought if anyone could be discreet it would be Kenneth. He never tells you anything you don’t need to know.”
Fred limped to the sofa. Bev lifted him onto her lap. She stroked Fred with her right hand, Xiang with her left.
“We babbled good-byes,” Bev continued. “I said I was glad I had my dogs to walk with for protection. Kenneth stared at little Chu-Hua and said no dog could protect her from him. I assumed he meant Sam and rushed to his defense, saying Sam wasn’t the type to murder for money and he certainly didn’t kill Callie for love, since their marriage was dead. Kenneth said husbands who cheated always claimed that. That’s when I lost it. Sam lied to me? I ranted at Kenneth. He backed off.”
Paula patted Chu-Hua’s head, stifling a smile. Bev didn’t sound like she had totally moved on from Sam. Chu-Hua growled at Tao, on the floor.
Bev stroked Fred, who dozed on her legs. “Afterwards, I wondered if Kenneth was talking about someone other than Sam, somebody else who had feelings for her. I think he just said ‘him,’ not specifically ‘Sam.’” Bev swung her legs from the footrest, startling Fred and knocking him to the carpet. Xiang bared his teeth. He leapt on top of Fred. Chu-Hua and Tao joined the scuffle. The dogs barked and growled and nipped each other.
“See what I mean?” Bev said. “Killing is instinct.”
Chapter Sixteen
They slid to the ends of the park bench. Hayden set out the picnic between them. Paula dropped her sandals to the dirt and swung her legs, inhaling the sweet fall air. They were surrounded by poplars specked with yellow and green leaves. Paula’s dark glasses couldn’t block the glare of the sun shining across the Elbow River. Hayden had suggested they meet for lunch to make up f
or his being unavailable tonight. His evening commitment freed her to phone Kenneth Unsworth and invite herself over for a condolence visit. Kenneth said he would be home and might have something to give to her.
“I wonder what it is,” she said to Hayden. “He wouldn’t explain over the phone.”
“Callie could have left you something in her will.” Hayden held out two submarine sandwiches. “Chicken or tuna?”
Paula took the fish. “Sam told Isabelle he’s not starting work on her estate until next week. He’s the executor.”
Hayden scowled at Paula’s reference to Sam. She let it go, being in too good spirits. Partly it was the weather and partly a sense of zeroing in on what she wanted to know about Sam. The uncertainty was driving her nuts. Hayden removed his suit jacket, but left his tie on and his collar buttoned. Given the heat, she was grateful for her loose cotton blouse that fluttered like the feathers of the Canada geese parading past their bench to the rocky shore.
She unwrapped the sandwich’s wax paper. “Why the delay with the will, do you think?”
“I expect Sam’s too busy squiring Callie’s girlfriends to hockey games.” Hayden took a huge bite of submarine.
Paula couldn’t resist his dry humor. So far, Sam had made her laugh by the things he did, like his involvement with Amazon Bev. Should she tell Hayden about her? Would he be amused or annoyed by anything related to Sam? She hadn’t mentioned Bev when they talked last night for fear he would accuse her of heading off on a wild goose chase. She giggled at the geese lined up on the shore.
“What’s so funny?” he said.
She chewed potato salad, avoiding an answer. The geese honked at their comrades perched on stones, splashing in the river, dipping their beaks into the water. Fewer complexities in her life would be nice. Since leaving Bev’s house, all she had thought of was Kenneth’s remark “no dog could save her from him.”
“I wonder if Kenneth knows about Dimitri’s crush,” she said. “If he does, you’d think he’d have told the cops about it for no other reason than to hurt Sam.”