by Susan Calder
“That isn’t proven yet,” Paula said.
“What did the cops ask you?” Isabelle said. “They kept you forever.”
“I’ll tell you over dinner,” Paula said. “I need a break first.”
“I’m eating out.” Isabelle followed her into the kitchen. “A lot of people phoned this afternoon.”
“Who?” Paula took out a bottle of wine from the fridge, a chilled Riesling for a change.
“Your boss. He said it wasn’t important and he’d see you at work tomorrow morning.”
Paula uncorked the wine. “Do you want a glass?”
Isabelle shook her head. “I’ll probably be drinking enough tonight.”
“Where are you going?”
“We aren’t sure. Dimitri said we’d decide in the car.”
Paula froze. “You’re going out with Dimitri?”
“He was another one who called, looking for Sam. He already knew about Felix. He said he’d canceled his trip to Ottawa and felt like going out and I wasn’t doing anything.”
Pouring wine into her glass, Paula said, “I don’t think you should go.”
“Why not?” Isabelle picked up some scraps of paper from the telephone table. “Also, your mother called. She was wondering where you were, since you usually phone her on Sunday. I said you were at the police station being questioned about Felix’s death.”
“That should reassure her.”
“Erin called, wondering why the cops came by her house to alibi me for last night. Isn’t that exciting? I called Leah, your other daughter, to tell her about Felix, but didn’t say Sam stayed over here last night. I figured you’d want to tell her yourself. The last one was Hayden. I told him about Felix and about the cops questioning us.”
”But not about me and Sam?”
“I wasn’t sure you’d want me to, since he’s your boyfriend. I’ve got to get dressed. Can I borrow the flowery skirt in your closet? The purple blouse, too. I don’t have anything fancy enough.”
“Call Dimitri and say you’ve changed your mind.”
“I won’t stay out late or drink too much since I’ve got a job interview in the morning.”
“Where? Did one of the restaurants you applied to call back?”
Isabelle was already dashing down the hall. At least the blouse and skirt would be less skimpy than her usual clothes. Outdoors, a pink glow illuminated the crabapple tree, now almost bare of leaves. When Dimitri arrived, Paula would suggest the three of them order pizza and talk about Felix here. She owed it to Isabelle’s parents not to let her go out with him until his part, or non-part, in the murders was settled. She glanced at the clock. It was after 8:00 PM in Montreal; she would return her mother’s call first.
The doorbell rang. “Can you get it?” Isabelle yelled from the den.
“Sure I can, since it’s my house.” Which she couldn’t wait to claim back for herself.
She crossed through the living room, preparing her comments for Dimitri, and opened the door. It was Hayden.
“Isabelle told me about you and her finding the body,” he said. “That must have been a shock.”
Isabelle reappeared, looking gorgeous in the flower skirt, mauve blouse, and pendant Paula had worn on many dates with Hayden. He didn’t seem to recognize the outfit. After introductions, she poured him a glass of Riesling. He wore his best casual clothes: a yellow golf shirt and freshly pressed corduroy pants. He ironed way more than she did. Isabelle launched into her story of their discovery of Felix’s body.
“It was lucky I had a key,” she said. “We can use it tomorrow when we get my things.”
“Didn’t you give the key to the cops?” Paula said.
“No one asked me for it.” Isabelle jumped up. “Is that a car?”
She and Paula went to the door. Dimitri looked sharp in a long-sleeved navy shirt and white Dockers pants. “I’m sorry and stunned by Felix’s death,” he said. “I can’t imagine him committing suicide.”
They shook hands. His fingers felt eerily like Sam’s.
“Can you imagine him in love with Callie?” she said.
He jerked his hand away. “I’m sure the interest was entirely on his side. She must have been aware of it, but didn’t tell me to spare my feelings.” He looked over Paula’s shoulder. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
Paula introduced him to Hayden. The men shook hands firmly. Dimitri had certainly composed himself since her visit on Friday night.
She glanced out the window. “I see you brought your car, rather than your motorbike.”
“Isabelle can’t drive the bike, but she can drive the car if I drink too much, which I have no intention of doing,” Dimitri said. “I’ve learned my lesson, the hard way, several lessons, in fact.”
She liked him better when he was falling apart. What was his interest in Isabelle? It would be hard to convince Isabelle to stay home without Dimitri; sharing pizza with Hayden and Dimitri would not be fun. On balance, Paula had to let Isabelle go. She suggested they be back by eleven o’clock so Isabelle would be fresh for her interview.
“What kind of job are you getting?” Dimitri asked with apparent interest as Paula closed the door behind them.
“What a phony,” Hayden said, returning to the sofa.
Paula took the armchair. “I can’t help feeling responsible for her.”
“He’ll fly off to Ottawa soon and chase after some classier woman. Why isn’t he in Ottawa already? Aren’t federal MPs required to attend parliamentary sessions, on occasion?”
“Dimitri told me Friday he would resign his seat. I wonder if he’s changed his mind.”
They sipped the sweet Riesling. Hayden was obviously waiting for the Sam report and she was too tired to circle around it. She set her glass on the end table, on the spot where Sam had lit the last candle before they tumbled to the floor. Not so many hours ago her evening dress was draped on this chair. Now, it hung in the front closet waiting to be dry-cleaned. Hayden’s brown eyes looked hopeful.
“I owe you the truth.” She took a breath. “The hike was okay. When we got back to Calgary, we dropped Felix off at his house and Isabelle at Erin’s, where she was spending the night. Sam and I went to dinner. He drove me home and stayed over.”
Hayden went pale. “You slept with him?”
“Feel free to say ‘I told you so’.”
“There are times I’d prefer to be wrong.” He placed his wine glass on the ottoman. “What was it like?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“This is the end.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And the beginning of you and Sam.”
“I don’t know about that. Felix’s death changes things.”
“In what way? I expect Sam will be looking for comfort after his friend’s suicide.”
“I’m not sure it was suicide.”
“An accident? When I called, Isabelle said Felix had been drinking.”
“I think it might have been murder.”
A pickup truck lumbered down the street. An airplane roared overhead.
“It wasn’t likely Sam,” she said. “I can give him an alibi for the probable time of death, aside from an hour when he disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Hayden said. “Was that some kind of kinky sex thing?”
She studied his self-deprecating smile. “You seem calmer about this than I had expected.”
“I’ve had all weekend to prepare. I knew I was finished the moment you decided to go on that hike.”
“I didn’t know we were finished then. I don’t even know it now.”
Hayden stood and marched to the wall unit, his nostrils twitching in anger—or at the acrid odor that lingered from last night.
“I still care about you,” Paula said.
“If you say let’s be friends, I’ll puke.” His hand brushed over the feather cap Isabelle had placed on the shelf. He picked up the monkey candle. “Is this new?”
“I bought it on impu
lse earlier this week.”
He stared at the startled monkey face and mumbled something that sounded like “monkey in the middle.”
“It’s not your fault you’re stuck in the middle of this,” she said. “Don’t be hard on yourself.”
“See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil,” he said. His hands shook. This breakup was bothering him more than he let on. She edged toward him and touched his arm.
“Do the cops really suspect Felix was murdered?” he asked.
“They lean strongly toward thinking he killed Callie and committed suicide from remorse. I’m the one who’s more skeptical.”
“Why?”
“A hunch?” She shrugged. “Yesterday, Felix went on and on about a great column he was going to write that was so vitally important the newspaper would splash it on the front page. Suddenly, he’s dead. If it wasn’t suicide, someone wanted desperately to shut him up.”
Hayden plunked the candle on the shelf.
“They might find more of his column in his wastebasket or on his computer. If they don’t . . . I feel so helpless. I wish I could do something.”
“No.” He walked to the sofa, his legs steady, the shaking gone. “You’ve done your bit. The cops can take it from here. If they rule it suicide, you agree, whether you believe it or not.”
“But—”
“Keep your eyes, ears, and mouth shut.”
See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. “Why did that candle upset you so much?”
“Keep your doubts to yourself. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Not even Sam?”
“Especially Sam.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Then stay away from him and his bunch.”
“You would like that.”
Hayden crossed one leg over the other. “It isn’t jealousy this time, I swear. I don’t want the cops barging into my office demanding my alibi because you’ve turned up as the next probable suicide.”
Paula shivered. “I wish you would lay off these warnings.”
“I wish you’d lay off Sam, rather than lay him.”
“There’s no need to be crude.”
He bolted up. “I should leave before we end on an even uglier note.”
“You always avoid arguments.” Did he? She was too tired to remember. “I’d like us to talk when things are more settled.”
“We’ll see.”
After he left, the house felt strangely silent. She returned her mother’s and daughters’ phone calls. Everyone was out. Where would her mother go at 9:00 PM? Paula left them both messages saying she was fine and would call when she had a chance. Not in the mood for TV, she paced from the living room to the den, to the kitchen and bedroom. She wouldn’t rest until Isabelle was back safe from her dinner with Dimitri, who was probably pumping her for information relating to their findings at Felix’s house. Paula felt herself wear a track in the hardwood floor. Her house shrank to the size of the interview room and was almost as stark: no pictures or plants, minimal knickknacks. She would go nuts if she didn’t get out, but didn’t dare walk through her neighborhood at night. The murder had ruined the place for her. Would she ever feel safe here again? She grabbed her car keys and purse, double-checked the locks on her front and side doors. In the car, she drove, not knowing which way she would turn until she reached 8th Street.
Cool night air flowed into her window. She passed the sandstone school, rounded the corner below the Stampede grounds, bumped over the C-train tracks, crossed MacLeod Trail and steered onto Felix’s street. House lights shone down the block to his home and yard, which were dark. No police vehicles remained, no yellow tape; no crime scene guys prowled the grounds.
If it wasn’t suicide, Felix’s killer had probably entered via the trail at the back after midnight, when most of the neighbors were asleep. He would have helped himself to a gun and bullets from Felix’s cupboards, tiptoed to the recliner chair and fired into the snoring mouth. He had to count on Felix staying asleep or, failing that, account for his own presence. It all pointed to an acquaintance or friend. Both Dimitri and Sam had lived with Felix for two or three years. Sam had said he would call her tonight and hadn’t. No surprises there, considering what had happened. His house was a ten-minute drive away.
She crossed the Elbow River Bridge, entered Riverdale, and parked in front of Sam’s home. Light streamed through the living room’s plantation blinds. She had been here twice. The first time she had met Sam and Isabelle. The second visit, six days ago, she had come for the funeral reception. So much had happened since then.
Sam answered the doorbell. “I was going to call you.”
Hadn’t he said something similar the last time? “I know you’ve heard about Felix’s death.”
“I’m sorry you had to find him,” he said.
“It was a shock. You must be stunned.” They repeated Dimitri’s platitudes.
Sam offered her a drink and left her in the living room, which looked essentially the same: baby grand piano, candle collection on the sideboard, cranberry walls, fireplace beneath a painting of a beach café bought to remember not Sam’s and Callie’s marriage, but Callie’s and Dimitri’s commitment ceremony witnessed by Felix and Sam. During that week the four of them stayed in Hawaii, had Felix loved Callie to the point of obsession, without either Sam or Dimitri noticing? How dense could two men be?
A change to the room was the addition of clutter. Newspaper sections covered the love seat. A half-finished bottle of beer sat on the glass coffee table next to a bowl of Hershey kisses. White sports socks lay on the floor.
Sam returned with two glasses of ice water. He was barefoot and wore jeans and a T-shirt. He gathered the newspaper sections into a pile to make space for himself on the love seat.
Like the previous time, Paula took a chair facing the piano and him. “How did you learn about Felix’s death?”
“Dimitri and I were clearing the shrubs in the back,” he said.
“A damp, dreary day for yard work.”
“We were filling in time before his Ottawa flight.”
“Dimitri changed his mind about that trip,” she said. “He’s out with Isabelle.”
Sam nodded. “He finds her amusing. She takes his mind off things. Dimitri’s the one who heard the doorbell. I ran around to the front and caught the detective getting into his car. While he was talking, I kept thinking, if Dimitri hadn’t heard the bell, if I’d walked not run, this wouldn’t be happening. Felix wouldn’t be dead.” He paused for a sip of water. “They took us downtown to get our statements.”
“Isabelle and I were at the downtown station. I’m surprised we missed you.”
“The reason for Felix’s death didn’t hit me until they asked about the scarf that was found in his hand.”
“It was navy with stars. Did it belong to Callie?”
“I couldn’t identify it. Dimitri said it was her type. He hadn’t a clue Felix was in love with her and insists there was no affair. Naturally, he wants to think that. I can’t be sure.”
The bowl of chocolate kisses reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything since this afternoon’s sandwiches. She took one and peeled off the foil wrap. “Three days ago you were sure there was nothing like that between Callie and Felix. You were sure his interest was strictly friendship.”
He flushed. “Who knows what people get up to in their private lives or what they really feel? You think you know someone, but you never truly do, in the end.”
“You’d think Dimitri would notice another man taking an interest in the woman he loved.”
Sam tossed a red foil kiss from hand to hand. “Like I said, Felix kept his feelings close.”
“Was that his style?”
“Everyone knew he was in love with her years ago. I’d assumed he’d gotten over it. Maybe he did for awhile and something re-triggered it.”
“This is so convenient for you and Dimitri. The killer is someone who can’t answer for himself. It makes everyth
ing easy.”
“It’s hardly easy to lose your best friend. You, of all people, should know that.” He twirled a foil kiss open.
She got up and paced to the sideboard. “Do you really think Felix would commit murder?”
“I can see him as a crime-of-passion type.”
“Anyone could buy a scarf that’s Callie’s style and plant it in a dead man’s hand. Whoever murdered Callie stole your father’s gun in advance. That’s not a crime of passion. It also took planning to leave no clues at the site.”
Sam walked over and faced her by the sideboard. His chest moved up and down beneath his green shirt. “Crimes of passion can involve a series of impulses,” he said. “Impulse one: Felix steals the gun. Dithers for awhile. Typical Felix. Impulse two: he follows her on the trail to see where she goes. More dithering. Impulse three: follows her and does the deed.”
“Do you really think Felix would carry a torch for thirty years with no one suspecting?”
He touched her arm. “In hindsight, there were signs.”
“Such as?” She shook off his hand.
“Why are you hassling me? It’s the cops, not me, who are calling it suicide.”
“And you’re going along.”
“What else can I do?”
“You could tell them you’re convinced Felix didn’t love her.”
“I’m not convinced, not anymore, and the evidence is there. The scarf. His note. You found him with the bloody gun in his hand. Stress was obviously building in him since her death. You saw his weird mood yesterday.”
“How convenient I was there to see it.”
“What does that mean?”
She rested her hand on a candlestick. The crystal felt solid and thick. “Yesterday, you told me there were limits to how far you would go to protect your son. You said you wouldn’t let them arrest an innocent person.”
“They can’t arrest Felix. He’s dead.”
“Pin the rap on the dead man.” She fingered the candlestick’s glass grooves. “Is it fair that Felix’s family and friends will falsely remember him as a murderer?”
“Would they feel better remembering him as a murder victim? That sucks, too, in my opinion. Whatever he’s pinned with sucks.”