by Louise Clark
Why?
"Because the evidence is overwhelmingly against her," Trevor replied.
Quinn brought a plate with toast on it over to the table. "Don't mind me. Just pretend I can hear the damned cat like the rest of you."
Grates, doesn't it? There was a gleam of malice in the cat's green eyes.
"You," Quinn said, pointing at the cat. "Leave the food alone."
Stormy lowered his head to sniff at the plate. His whiskers twitched and his nose curled, then he studiously ignored the toast.
Quinn laughed.
He doesn't like toast. He wouldn't even take a bite, though I tried to convince him to. Frank sounded aggrieved. Christy wasn't sure whether he was mad at Stormy or Quinn.
"Emotions are running high," Roy said. He plated two eggs, then added another two to the pan to cook. "No need to bicker."
Quinn saluted the cat with a lift of his coffee mug and dropped more bread into the toaster. He picked up the coffee pot and brought it over to the table to refill the mugs. "What's the evidence against her?"
"Timing, to start with," Trevor said. "They can't believe she could be in her apartment and not be aware of Brittany's death. They found blood on the nightgown she was wearing that night. The blood type is the same as Brittany's and they expect that DNA testing will prove that it was Brittany's blood. And they found hairs the same color as Brittany's on the pillows of Ellen's bed. Those are being tested as well, but again the cops expect them to be proven to be Brittany's."
Roy handed around plates of eggs and bacon. "Sounds like they've painted Ellen into a pretty tight corner."
Quinn dropped cutlery at each place, then sat down. "Is Ellen still claiming that she wasn't in a relationship with Brittany?"
She wasn't in a relationship with Brittany or anyone else!
Christy picked up the cat and dropped him on her lap. "You can get back into the center of things later. For now, let the guys eat."
"Yes," Trevor said, apparently responding to Quinn's question rather than Christy's instructions to the cat. He popped a forkful of egg into his mouth. "The police don't believe her, though. The evidence is there and it's pretty clear. A woman's hair doesn't get on your pillow unless she's slept beside you and her blood wouldn't be on your clothes unless you were there when she was killed."
"Sure it would," Roy said. He dipped a piece of toast into an egg yolk and ate it. "I can think of a bunch of scenarios that would account for it and not implicate Ellen."
"You're a writer, Armstrong, and a damned good one. You snatch ideas out of the ether like they were fish in a pond. Most murderers aren't as smart as you. They don't have the imagination to successfully implicate someone else."
Good thing, since policemen wouldn't be smart enough to catch them if they did.
"Now, Frank," Roy said. "Think positive."
How can I? It took my wife and your son to prove I'd been murdered. The cops didn't even think I was dead!
"What's your scenario, Dad?" Quinn had obviously decided to ignore the rest of the dialogue, part of which he couldn't hear.
"Brittany wasn't dead when Ellen left the apartment."
While he calmly scooped up egg yolk with his toast, the rest of them stared at Roy.
"You're suggesting that the murderer and Brittany were in the apartment when Ellen woke up, packed her bag, and left?" Trevor said. "The cops have already ruled that out."
Roy shook his head. "No. I'm suggesting that the murderer came into the apartment, made noise that sounded like a scuffle, broke the mirror and table, then crept out again. When that person saw Ellen leave, he or she forced Brittany into the apartment, then took her out onto the terrace and killed her. He or she would know they had plenty of time since Ellen left with a suitcase. Once Brittany was dead it would be easy to soil the nightgown and put the hair strands onto the pillow. It would also be easy to slip away unseen before the housekeeper arrived."
"Ellen left the apartment about six thirty in the morning. The housekeeper usually arrives about noon. That's a pretty big window of opportunity," Quinn said. He looked intrigued. Clearly his brain was working along the same lines as his father's. "So how did he or she get in? I presume Ellen didn't sleep with her doors unlocked."
"I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Armstrong, but the police asked the same question," Trevor said. He sounded weary. "Ellen's lock is a standard Yale, but only the building superintendent and her housekeeper have keys. And she doesn't leave a key on the exterior of the residence, for instance on the lintel or under the carpet in the hallway."
Quinn studied him. "Let me guess. Both the housekeeper and building super have alibis for the time in question."
"They do."
"So Ellen is doomed?" Christy felt almost relieved as she said it.
"No, she's not. Keys can be copied." Quinn shot Christy a quick look. "Has she ever loaned her key to a friend to water her plants when she's away?"
Christy shook her head. "The super does the watering for all the tenants. It's part of the condo service."
"Left her keys on the table when a tradesman was in the apartment?"
What kind of tradesman?
"Does it matter?" Christy asked impatiently.
I'm just trying to get a clear picture, here. But actually, that's not the sort of thing Aunt Ellen would do. She's almost paranoid about watching service people when they're in her space. She trusts no one.
Quinn looked at Christy and the cat with a raised brow. She colored and said, "Frank says she would never be so careless."
"Then maybe the housekeeper murdered Brittany and planted the evidence," Roy suggested.
"And arranged for a falsified alibi? Not likely, Dad."
Roy shrugged. "The thing is, I don't think Ellen is guilty. I don't like the crime of passion as a motive. It's not in her characterization. I couldn't sell this to a bored reader, let alone to a hypercritical editor."
"I wish this was a novel, Roy," Christy said, surprising herself by how wistful she sounded. "But it's not. The cops think that the romance gone wrong motive is pretty good. They must. They're not even looking for other suspects."
"Then we'll have to do it," said Quinn. He stared across the table at the cat, raising his brow in a pointed challenge.
Still sitting in Christy's lap, the cat shivered in reaction. Frank might have conflicted feelings about his Aunt Ellen, but obligations to name and family ran strong in the Jamiesons. Tell him he's on. There was a moment of tense silence. But he'll have to be the eyes and legs.
Chapter 16
Christy cleared her throat nervously as she ignored her late husband's response to the challenge. "Frank and I might not be able to help."
Quinn frowned, but it was Trevor who spoke, his voice as sharp as his piercing gaze. "You don't believe Ellen is innocent?"
"No! No, it's not that. It's... I may be taking Noelle to Kingston, where my parents live, for safety. If I do, Stormy will come with us."
On her lap, the cat leapt to his feet, back arched, tail quivering. His extended claws bit into Christy's flesh and dug. No! I won't go. I'll stay with the Armstrongs.
"Ouch. Frank!"
I'm not going to abandon Aunt Ellen. The old broad might not be my favorite person, but she's family. I'm not going to let her be railroaded into prison without a fight. The cat wriggled out of Christy's hold and jumped down from her lap. He circled the table to where Roy sat, then jumped up into his lap where he positioned himself so that he could glare at Christy to the maximum effect. I'm disappointed in you, Chris.
"I'm not abandoning Ellen—"
"That's the way the police will see it," Trevor said.
"I can't help that," Christy said, her voice tight. "I have to do what is best for my daughter."
What's best for Noelle is for us to remain a family.
"Then come with us, Frank! You don't have to stay here."
If Ellen's here, I'm here.
"You're impossible!"
I'm trying to
do what's best for my family, but you're not helping. If you run home to your mom and dad, you'll never come back to Vancouver. I told you I'd always look after you, but you aren't listening. You never listened.
She launched herself to her feet. "I hear plenty of talk, Frank, I just don't see any action."
That's because you don't believe. You never believed in me!
"This isn't about you, it's about Noelle. I'm going to talk to her after school, then I'll make the travel arrangements when we get home."
You're making a mistake, Chris!
"Maybe I am, but Joan Shively has power I can't defeat. I've already tried once, but she's still out there, after me. After us! I have to go if I want to keep Noelle safe."
Okay. Run. Turn away. It's what you do best.
Stung, she pushed back her chair and lunged to her feet. "I've heard enough. And I've had enough. I'm leaving."
Emotion and embarrassment had her keeping her head down to avoid Quinn's eyes and his outstretched hand as she hurried away from the table. She heard the scrape of his chair, but she didn't pause. Instead she ran down the stairs, anxious to be gone. She was out the door and halfway down the porch steps when his voice called her name. She stopped and turned slowly to face him.
He was standing in his open doorway, leaning against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Listening in on a couples fight is uncomfortable. Only hearing one side must be torture."
His mouth quirked up in a half smile as he pushed away from the doorjamb and came toward her. "I don't care what the cat said. It's what you said that matters to me."
She watched him approach, not moving, her thoughts despairing.
When they were face-to-face, he reached out and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I understand why you want to leave Vancouver. I don't think it will solve all your problems, but I do understand."
She swallowed the lump in her throat and sniffed back the tears that threatened. "Thank you."
His hand stroked down her cheek and came to rest on her shoulder. "There has to be a way to sort out the Shively problem without resorting to relocation to another province."
"I don't want to go, but it's the only option I can see."
"All I ask is that you don't rush away immediately. Give me a chance to work this out with you. Together we found out what happened to Frank, despite the odds against us. We can figure out what to do about Shively as well."
"Quinn, I—"
He brought his hand up again, and put his finger on her lips. "Shh. Come out to dinner with me tonight. We can talk it out quietly, without the damn cat interfering."
Despite herself, Christy laughed. It was little more than a chuckle, but it sounded good to her ears, although maybe it was Quinn's faith in her that lightened her mood. All she knew was that she wanted to be with him tonight. "All right. I'll come out with you and I won't make any arrangements until we've talked."
He rubbed his thumb over her cheekbone in a tender gesture. "I'll pick you up at six."
* * *
The afternoon was as beautiful as the morning had been. The air was clear, with just a hint of crispness, and the sky was a cloudless blue. In the woods surrounding the path, the sun shone through the stark, bare branches of the maple and cottonwood trees and made the dark needles of the evergreens gleam. It was a day to savor and enjoy, because the dull skies and raw drizzles of winter would soon be the norm. Vancouver's weather wouldn't matter, of course, if she relocated to Ontario, but Quinn's faith in their ability to solve this latest problem gave her at least a smidgeon of hope that she'd see another rainy BC winter rather than a snowy Ontario one.
"Let's go for a walk along the path before we head home," Christy said when picked up Noelle at the school.
"But Mary and I—" A glance at Christy's face made Noelle frown and swallowed the protest she was about to make. "Okay."
Christy bit her lip. She didn't want her daughter to fret, but she had to talk to her about their future and she thought it would be better to do it away from the house. She held out her hand and Noelle took it, then they walked together to the rear of the school grounds and out onto the path through the greenbelt.
When they had walked some distance from the school, Christy said, "Aunt Ellen was officially arrested today, sweetheart."
Noelle's eyes widened and she paled. "That sounds bad, Mom, but what does it really mean?"
"Aunt Ellen may have to spend some time in jail and then she will to go to court. It won't be nice for Aunt Ellen." Christy bit her lip. "Or for us."
Noelle kicked at the fallen leaves littering the path. "You mean like when Daddy disappeared and everyone thought he was a bad man?"
Christy sighed. "Yeah. People judge even though they don't know all the facts. It will be stressful."
Noelle was quiet while she processed this. She trudged down the path, her hand clutching Christy's. That she wasn't skipping along, full of exuberant energy, was evidence of the weight Ellen's arrest put on her. Christy's dark, troubled mood deepened. Finally Noelle said, "Do you think she did it, Mom? That she hurt that lady like the police said?"
Christy hesitated. Did she think Ellen was guilty of causing Brittany's death? Ellen Jamieson was a difficult woman and she could be cold, but murder? "There's a lot of evidence against Aunt Ellen. The murder happened in her condo, so naturally the police are suspicious."
"Yes, but do you think she did it?"
Yes or no. Christy had to jump down on one side or the other. She swallowed hard and stared at the lacy fronds of a distant cedar tree without really seeing them. "No, I think Aunt Ellen is innocent."
"Good," said Noelle, sounding more cheerful. "Because Daddy doesn't think she's guilty, and neither do I. I like Aunt Ellen. I'm glad she's come to live with us and I don't want her to go to jail."
Out of the mouths of babes. "Good point."
They walked on in silence for another few yards. Christy said cautiously, "What do you think about going to Kingston to visit Grandma and Grandpa?"
Noelle looked up at her, a big grin on her mouth. "Yeah! I love Grandma and Grandpa! When? For Christmas?"
"No. Sooner." Tomorrow, so Joan Shively can't take you away from me. But she remembered her promise to Quinn and said, "In a few days, perhaps."
Noelle frowned. "But what about school?"
"We could homeschool you while we were in Kingston. Or we could enroll you in a school there."
Noelle shook her head, a horrified expression on her face. "But Mom! My school is doing a Christmas concert just before the holidays. Every class has a project and mine is doing a play. I have one of the big parts. They can't do it without me!"
"Someone else will be given the part," Christy said.
"No! It's mine!" Noelle pulled her hand out of Christy's and stopped. "It's important, Mom. Mary and I are partners. We're going to practice together. We promised each other!"
"But Noelle—"
"Mary was scared and she didn't want to do the part, but I said I'd be in the play too and she said she'd try. I can't dump her and run away, Mom. She needs me!"
Noelle, the child of wealth and privilege, was used to being the focus of attention, hiding her moods and thoughts in front of others, acting on a stage that had nothing to do with a school play. She wanted to help her friend and now she had a way to do it.
"Noelle—"
"I love Mary, Mom. We are total BFFs. If I left, Mary would drop out of the play and then Mrs. Morton would be mad at her and she'd get into all kinds of trouble." She looked up at Christy, her eyes despairing. "How can I do that to her?"
Christy stared down at her daughter. Since Frank's disappearance Noelle's life had been one upheaval after another. Now she was putting down roots in this small neighborhood and at the local school. Christy should be relieved. Instead she was terrified. She no longer had the option of cutting and running.
She wasn't certain how she was going to make sure Noell
e stayed in her care, but she knew one thing. She would fight to make damned sure Noelle had the opportunity to practice her lines with Mary Petrofsky for the next few weeks and that she would be on stage at the school's Christmas concert come December. She crouched down so that she was at eye level with her daughter. "Okay, kiddo. We'll visit Grandma and Grandpa some other time. We'll stay right here for now."
Noelle threw her arms around Christy with such enthusiasm that she almost knocked her over. Laughing, Christy hugged her back.
Now all she had to do was make sure Ellen didn't go to jail and to do that all she had to do was figure out who killed Brittany Day.
Simple.
Yeah, right.
Chapter 17
Quinn looked at the collection of ties on the tie rack in his cupboard and pondered which one he would wear tonight. He didn't have a lot of ties. Men with a lot of ties wore suits everyday to work and he didn't have to, thank God. He did have enough to make the choice of which one to wear tonight a bit of a decision, though. Then again, so far every one of his wardrobe choices had been a decision. Not surprising, he thought, when his future was hanging in the balance.
If Christy left Vancouver, it would probably mean the end of the very promising beginning of their relationship. He wasn't sure if, when, or how that relationship might end, but he was certain he didn't want it to end now. So tonight he had to convince Christy that if she stayed here in Vancouver, together they would they would be able to keep Noelle safe from the wicked witch of child services.
Clothes, it was said, made the man. Christy might not have been born a Jamieson, but she had lived as one for ten years. She knew the power that money and status brought, and she knew how men who wielded that power looked. They wore dark, expensive suits, power ties, and pressed white shirts. Their chins and cheeks were clean shaven and their hair was styled and combed.
Tonight he was wearing each and every one of the visual clues that said he had power and knew how to use it. He was taking Christy to a restaurant on Robeson that was not the most expensive place in town, but it was currently the spot for those in the know. Visiting movie stars making a film in Vancouver. Corporate executives who wanted to prove their discerning taste. Socialites who loved the new and unusual. He would take her there and he would show her that he could slide easily into this world, because he knew and understood power.