by Louise Clark
"And that person must have been very familiar with his habits as well, to have known what to add to the food and how to ensure that he couldn't reach his antidote in time," Christy said.
That leaves out Cara. She didn't know any of the university crowd.
Christy passed Frank's observation on to Quinn.
"But it does add Lorne Cossi and potentially the other TAs. They all knew about Peiling's allergy." Quinn said.
"Don't forget, Lorne had an alibi for the night Peiling died," Christy said.
"Right, so it could be the woman—Rochelle Dasovic—or the other man, Bradley Neale. We haven't checked on their alibis for the night of Peiling's death."
"But neither one of them could have killed Brittany, and I believe the two murders were connected," Christy said.
"Which leaves us with Nathan."
I'd like it to be DeBolt. He was never one of my favorite people. The voice was wistful.
Christy didn't bother to pass along Frank's observation. She said instead, "His firm supports Peiling's program, so he'd know the professor."
"Agreed, and Peiling would be comfortable with him." Quinn tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "He'd also be shocked by the idea of Nathan as a murderer."
Christy nodded. "Frank says Nathan's ruthless. You'd have to be, I think to sit on one side of a desk and watch a man die of anaphylactic shock on the other."
"He's got the physical strength to have killed Brittany. He knows Ellen, but she is his wife's friend, so he doesn't have any emotional ties to her. He may also be angry that it's Frank, Ellen's nephew, Aaron is accused of killing. He may think it's fitting that Brittany's death is being blamed on a Jamieson. So, what's his motive for killing Brittany?"
"He's old money and a power in Vancouver society and politics," Christy said. "Having his only son go to prison as an accessory to murder would destroy everything he's worked for over a lifetime."
Quinn gunned the engine as the road began a steep climb up Burnaby Mountain. "The question is, how deeply does he value his family's reputation? Enough to kill?"
* * *
The re-arrest of Aaron DeBolt as an accessory in the murder of Frank Jamieson was all over the news the next morning and caused a sensation. Only days before, the media had been trumpeting Aaron's release and making a scandal of his false arrest. Now there was an even bigger scandal brewing, one of conspiracy and murder. There wasn't a media outlet in the Lower Mainland that wasn't focused on the arrest. Even the national news programs were picking up the story, since Brittany was from Calgary and her father was a power in the important oil and gas industry.
Aaron's arrest wasn't the only focus of the stories. The details of Frank's murder were dredged up, including a quick précis of his wild lifestyle with his socialite wife. Pictures of Frank and Christy partying were included, though the focus of the reports this time was the prominent DeBolt family. Secondary stories detailed Natalie DeBolt's rise from Cariboo country girl to the wife of the wealthy Nathan DeBolt and noted that they had been having marital difficulties for some years. Aaron's lifestyle and how it impacted his arrest were also featured. Questions were raised about Aaron's potential involvement in the death of Brittany Day and there was speculation her murder was somehow related to the false alibi she'd given.
Christy was alerted to the furor by Quinn, who called to warn her. He caught her before she set off to school with Noelle. She was able to warn Noelle that there might be questions about her dad and his death once again, from her classmates, their parents, and perhaps even some of the teachers.
"And Ms. Shively, too," Noelle had said, so matter-of-fact that she seemed nonchalant.
Christy agreed. The child services worker was very much on her mind.
They took the back way to school, using the path through the woods, just in case the press had figured out where Noelle went to school. Christy didn't think they had and she didn't think they would target the school since they hadn't camped out in front of her house, but she believed in taking precautions. Avoiding the building's front entrance was one of them.
When Christy dropped Noelle at her classroom, her teacher skewered Christy with a disapproving look and said, "The principal would like you to go to her office before you leave, Mrs. Jamieson."
Noelle opened her eyes wide and said, "Uh-oh, Mom. You're in trouble."
Christy looked down at her daughter and her heart did a little flip. Noelle's eyes were wide with dismay, but deep in them amusement lurked. She'd seen that look in Frank's eyes many, many times. That twinkle, hiding beneath the solemn expression, was one of the charming behaviors that had drawn her to Frank when she first met him, and which had kept her with him for a long time after their passionate love had been lost. It was the best of Frank, the real Frank beneath the Jamieson heir. And in that moment her daughter reminded Christy so much of her dead husband that she bent down and hugged her fiercely. "You're an imp," she whispered in Noelle's ear, careful that the teacher wouldn't hear.
Noelle hugged her back and giggled. "Go get her, Mom."
When Christy straightened both she and Noelle were Jamiesons, ready to deal with the people around them in a polite, composed way. Christy found the principal's office and was advised that the school would not allow the press to harass her daughter. Unlike Noelle's teacher, the principal was sympathetic. She understood that Christy couldn't control the media and that Christy simply wanted her daughter to have a normal school life. They parted on good terms, with the principal promising to phone Christy should any reporters happen to discover that Noelle was attending this particular institution.
Christy returned home via the wooded path. She spent her walk thinking about the murders, Aaron's re-arrest and what it all meant. By the time she was on her street and almost home, she was pretty sure she knew who had killed Brittany and also Jacob Peiling.
Quinn was sitting on her porch waiting for her. He smiled as she came up her walk and reached out to take her hands. "Are you still on for this morning?"
She leaned into him, bending to kiss him before she settled beside him. Yesterday, as they speculated on who was guilty of the two murders, they'd decided to seek out Nathan DeBolt this morning and ask him some of the questions that were still unanswered. "Do you think he'll be willing to talk to us? He must be inundated with reporters."
"I arranged an interview with him for eleven thirty this morning."
"Really? He agreed to talk to you? Why?"
"I got the impression that he was gutted by Aaron's re-arrest. He sounded... bewildered, like he couldn't take it all in. Right now he needs to unburden himself on someone."
"And that someone is you? Why?"
Quinn shot her an amused look laced with some cockiness. He slipped his arm around her waist to draw her snug against his body. "My reputation as a journalist who researches his material and is fair and unbiased." He sobered. "He opened up to me before. It may just be that I'm a name he knows."
"Where do we meet him?"
"His house."
"His house will be surrounded by the media."
"Yeah, and it's a mansion not far from your old place. It has gates and security guards who are there to ensure we get in and the other guys don't."
Christy thought about the media scrum that would be going on outside the DeBolt mansion. She remembered how trapped she'd felt when Frank had been labeled an embezzler and the news crews camped outside the Jamieson mansion for days on end. She thought too of the flash of cameras every time she had to cross that barrier, of reporters shoving microphones at her and shouting questions, even if she was safely ensconced in a car.
And she thought about Joan Shively believing the media reports, whether they were true or not. "I can't go to DeBolt's house."
Quinn drew away so he could look into her face. He frowned as he reached out to tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "Too many memories?"
She swallowed and nodded. "But I'm worried that someone might recognize me and s
peculate that I'm somehow involved in the murders. Or they might just use a photo of us going into the compound and link me to the DeBolts."
He drew his hand down her cheek in a tender gesture. "It would only be speculation."
"It was speculation six months ago, when I was supposed to be the reason Frank embezzled from the Trust. Or years before that, when I was labeled a gold-digging, good-time girl who married Frank for his money." She sighed. "Once it's printed, speculation doesn't go away and lots of people think it's fact. Like Joan Shively, the child services woman."
"And you need to make sure Noelle is safe. I understand," Quinn said gently.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Thank you."
He hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head.
She smiled. "I am so lucky I met you."
He laughed. "You tried hard enough to avoid me."
Christy's smile deepened. "So I made a mistake, then changed my mind. Lady's prerogative."
"Works for me," Quinn said.
They sat quietly for a few minutes after that, enjoying the closeness and each other, before Christy sat up with a sigh. "I should go in. I need to put the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and get a laundry going. I'm sure Shively will show up sometime today on one of her unannounced visits. I want the house to be spotless."
"I'll come over when I get back from DeBolt's."
Christy nodded, then Quinn kissed her, a tender kiss that had her lifting her hand to cup his cheek before she slid her fingers into his hair. The kiss didn't demand, it evoked. It offered Quinn's understanding and soothed her own insecurities. It told her he was there for her whenever she needed him, and she responded by showing him how very deeply that moved her.
She wished the embrace would go on forever, but kisses had to end, especially kisses on a single mom's front porch.
Quinn rested his forehead on Christy's for a few moments after he pulled away. His voice had a rueful note as he said, "I don't want to leave you."
Christy made a sound that was half laugh, half sigh. "I don't want you to go, either."
"Someone's got to move," Quinn said.
"Yeah."
He laughed. "Guess it has to be me."
He rubbed his thumb over her mouth. His smile was tender. For a moment Christy thought he was going to kiss her again, but then he stood. He held out his hand to help her up. Then he was gone, loping down her walk, heading for his place.
She watched him go, then, with a little sigh, went up the steps and into her house.
Chapter 27
Quinn went from his meeting with Nathan DeBolt to visit the managing editor of Vancouver's evening newspaper. There he negotiated a deal for a series of articles on the DeBolt family. Before he left he wrote the first one, on his meeting with Nathan, so he didn't return to Burnaby until later in the afternoon. By that time Christy had picked up Noelle from school. She hadn't come in contact with any media and Noelle had had a normal day so she was able to breathe a sigh of relief once they were both home and back in their own space.
With Christmas fast approaching, preparations for the school play were becoming a focus for all of the children. When Noelle asked if Mary Petrofsky could come over so they could practice their parts together, Christy laughed and agreed, as long as it was okay with Mary's mother. It was, so the moment Mary arrived the two girls disappeared into the basement, leaving Christy to worry that Joan Shively hadn't shown up yet that day. She had been so certain she would, because Shively tended to do a home visit whenever the Jamieson name appeared in the press.
The afternoon seemed very quiet with Noelle and Mary off on their own. Outside a steady rain darkened the sky and added a nip to the air. Christy decided it was the perfect day to make a big batch of chili, so she set to work, humming to herself as she chopped onions and peppers and browned the meat in a large kettle.
When Quinn phoned at four thirty, the chili was simmering on the stove.
"Hi," he said. "I'm back. How was your day? Any problems? Did Shively drop by?"
Christy laughed. "I'm glad. Okay. No. And no."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the connection. "I deserved that for shooting off a bunch of shotgun questions. If I got your answers right, your day has been quiet."
"Bingo. You win the prize." She stirred the chili. "How did your interview with DeBolt go?"
"He was surprisingly forthcoming. I don't think he was the one who killed Brittany and Peiling."
"No. I don't think so either."
There was another silence on Quinn's end. "You've figured out who the killer is?"
Christy stared out the kitchen window at the gloomy, wet afternoon. "If I've put it all together right, yeah, I think I have."
"Why don't you come over and we can discuss it."
"I can't. Mary Petrofsky is here and she and Noelle are playing downstairs. Plus I've got a batch of chili on the stove."
"Chili?"
She laughed. "Why don't you come over here? You can stay for dinner. Bring your dad and Trevor too, if he's around. I made a ton."
"I'll come. But..." There was a brief hesitation, then he said, "Trevor is here, but so is Ellen."
Christy thought about Joan Shively and her disapproval. It was unlikely the woman would show up this late. "Bring Ellen too, if she'll come. I'm sure Noelle would be happy to see her."
"What about you?"
Dear Quinn, she thought, worrying about her tangled and tentative relationship with Frank's aunt. "I'm fine. She should come."
"I'll try," he said. "When do you want us?"
"Whenever works for you." She laughed. "Thanks to my concern that Shively would come by today, my house is spotless. All I'll have to do is set the table, and I can do that just before we sit down to eat."
"Or I can do it for you. Okay, we'll be over in a bit."
She hung up the phone, then went to get a bottle of wine from the wine rack in the storage area under the staircase. While she was in the basement, she asked if Mary would like to stay for dinner. The invitation resulted in a spate of energetic activity as Noelle and Mary raced up the stairs so Mary could phone her mom, then, when the answer was positive, some gleeful jumping up and down, before the girls charged back down to the basement to continue their practicing.
The noise woke up Stormy, who had been snoozing on Noelle's bed. The cat padded into the kitchen, whiskers twitching as he took in the scent of stewing beef. What's cooking, babe?
"Chili." Christy stirred the pot.
Your mom's chili? There was a wistful note to the thought.
They'd had a chef at the mansion. In all the years she and Frank had been married, she'd never cooked him a dinner. When they'd met in university, though, he'd shared many meals with her family. Her mother's chili had been his favorite. He'd once told her that he'd never eaten anything better.
"Yup." She hesitated, then spooned some chunks of beef and a little sauce into a bowl. Chili might not be on a recommended cat diet, but she figured a little wouldn't do any harm. She set it aside to cool. Frank might prefer his portion of chili piping hot and right out of the pot, but that was probably more than Stormy's system would be able to handle. Since the cat had been remarkably accommodating for Frank, she wanted to make sure his needs were being looked after too.
Stormy had leapt up onto one of the kitchen chairs and was standing on his hind legs, front paws on the top of the backrest. He was watching her movements with a hungry intensity that made her laugh.
"Not yet." She pushed the bowl into a far corner.
Stormy eased back down onto the chair. He licked a paw just to prove he didn't care and he wasn't anxiously waiting for his supper.
Christy leaned her elbows on the counter and said, "Frank, I've invited the Armstrongs over for dinner so we can talk about the murders."
Don't let them eat all the chili. Save a little for tomorrow.
"Ellen's over at their house right now." She hesitated, then added, "I
invited her too."
Stormy slowly lowered his paw. His green eyes stared intently at Christy. I'm okay with that.
"Ellen didn't kill Brittany Day or Jacob Peiling."
She had a sense of something she thought might be a mental snort, then Frank said, Well, duh.
"I think—" The doorbell rang. "That's probably them."
It was indeed everyone from the Armstrong house. Quinn entered first. He shot her a look that told her he'd like to kiss her, but was holding back in front of the others. He did give her hand a squeeze though. And she squeezed back. Roy followed, brandishing a bottle of wine. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and followed his son up the stairs.
Ellen was next. She had the Jamieson poker face on and said coolly, "It was kind of you to invite me, Christy," as she bestowed a reserved air kiss on first one and then the other of Christy's cheeks.
"I'm glad you agreed to join us," Christy said, and surprised herself by meaning it.
The last to arrive was Trevor. He was carrying a wine bottle too. "It's been hard on her," he said, and shoved the bottle into Christy's arms. Then he followed the rest up the stairs to the living room.
Except no one stopped in the living room. Christy, along with Noelle and Mary, who had bounded up from the basement when they heard the bell, found them all in the kitchen. Trevor and Ellen were already at the table, while Roy and Quinn were locating wineglasses and a corkscrew. The enticing aroma of chili provided a backdrop for the whole scene.
Noelle raced over to Ellen to hug her, then she picked up Stormy, who had taken up a position beside his food bowl, and put him into Ellen's lap. "You should be friends," she said, with great gusto.
There was a moment where all the other adults in the room stared, waiting to see how both Frank and Ellen would react.
"He's a nice cat," Mary said. Her voice was quiet, a little hesitant in the face of a kitchen crowded with adults.
"I'm sure he is," Ellen said gently. She stroked Stormy's head as she had the day before. The cat began to purr. Mary beamed and Noelle kissed both her aunt and the cat before she and Mary headed back to the basement.