Michael caught up before she reached the van. “How about the burger joint across from the hotel?”
“Whatever you like. I’m sorry, I just—” Just what? Need to sleep? Think I ruined something special? Love you? Amy choked on a sob.
Michael reached for her, then let his hand fall away. He unlocked the van and opened Amy’s door. “We’ll get drive-thru. You can eat in your room and go right to sleep.”
Amy dragged a sleeve through her tears and climbed into the passenger seat. The emotional see-saw from Gilles’ death should be behind her now. Her jaw tightened. She had to leave the sabotage theories alone.
Chapter 5
When Amy’s alarm sounded the next morning, she couldn’t remember dreaming, but the aftermath weighted her emotions. Or maybe it was just the overload from yesterday.
It didn’t take long to pack up at the gallery. More paintings had sold than she expected. They’d leave some smaller ones on consignment with gift shops on the way home, along with some of the new art products.
What could have been two solid days of driving became a week-long working holiday. Amy had contacted the gift shops ahead of time, so Michael knew which owners wanted to see him.
Mornings and evenings in the campgrounds were the best part of the trip. With the light at its best for pictures, Michael led Amy on a hunt for water scenes. They found tiny streams, raindrops on leaves, a raging waterfall. Michael snapped photos and sketched rough pencil details. Over the winter, he’d paint the best images.
Amy loved watching him work, seeing the before and imagining the after.
He chose areas with easy access and short walks. What kind of inspiration might he have found if he’d left her behind with the tents?
Late Friday afternoon, Michael pulled the van into the studio driveway. Emilie’s bright blue Honda sat beside Aunt Bay’s purple four-by-four.
Amy’s chest tightened. Might as well stamp The End in all caps. “Michael, this has been so good. I know I slowed you down, but thank you.” She clicked open her seatbelt and turned toward the door. “I wish we could have tried the jazz club.”
The key scraped as he pulled it from the ignition. Amy opened her door, keeping her face averted.
Michael let out a slow breath. “You were a big help. I know it was hard. Thank you.”
Emilie raced toward them from the house, as if Michael might change his mind and drive away. Aunt Bay followed more slowly.
Amy climbed out of the van, testing her hip, just in time to see Emilie launch herself at Michael with a squeal. Amy caught Aunt Bay’s eye, and the older woman shook her head.
Michael disentangled himself and hauled open the side door of the van. Amy did the same on the passenger side. The sooner they had everything unloaded, the better.
Emilie grinned at her across the boxes. “Hey, Amy. Welcome back.”
“Thanks.”
The girl reached for one of the smaller boxes. “I came to help Michael unpack. You can’t carry much.”
Aunt Bay spoke in Amy’s right ear. “We’ll all help.”
The bare gallery walls gave Amy a creepy feeling, but it didn’t take long to unwrap the paintings and restore the room’s atmosphere.
Michael stacked the extra boxes of notepads and other products in the office, and spread his hands to his helpers. “All set to re-open. Thank you. Did we miss any customers this week, Aunt Bay?”
“I returned a couple of messages and said you’d be back on Monday. Didn’t notice anyone come to the door, but I’ve been on the go a lot.”
The phone rang, and Aunt Bay picked it up. “I was expecting a call. You three go relax.”
They settled in the living room. Emilie tucked her feet under her and fixed Michael with a bright stare. “So tell me all about your trip. I wish I could have cut classes for a week and gone, instead of poor Amy having to do it.”
Michael’s lips quirked. “She didn’t have to do it. I could’ve gone alone again.” The look he gave Amy soothed the prickle from Emilie’s words. “Amy’s a great assistant. She made the trip a lot easier.”
“What are you going to do when she finds another bank position?”
“Sell her a painting for her office.”
The girl tossed her head. “If you let her go. Honestly, Michael, sometimes I think you’re keeping her prisoner, like some kind of weird memorial to my brother.”
Amy lifted one foot, then the other. “No ball and chain. You’re as bad as the conspiracy speculation about Gilles’ and my accident.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “In Toronto, you sounded like you believed it.”
“I got caught up in the puzzle. The what-if. But there’s no motivation, not even money. Any life insurance Gilles had would have gone to his parents, or to the company if it was a work policy.”
“He should have transferred it to you.”
Amy blinked. Michael never criticized his best friend. They’d been inseparable — until whatever happened to separate them. Even then, each spoke well of the other. She shrugged. “I’d be surprised if he had life insurance. Gilles was too alive to think about death.”
Emilie shrugged. “He had no one depending on him, until you came along.”
“I didn’t come along. He found me.” The whirlwind romance and engagement. Leaving everything to start fresh here in Halifax with this captivating Québécois. He’d carried her away from a carefully-ordered life like some dashing — but good-hearted — pirate.
He’d said he was running away. Amy looked from Michael to Emilie. “Gilles left something here, something that upset him. He sorted it out and came back, but what was it? Could that be the clue?”
Michael’s hands slapped his thighs. “Not again!”
Emilie shot him a glance. She faced Amy, eyes slitted as if to see the past. “He was furious with Papa. He shouted and stormed out. I didn’t see him again until he came here with you. I’d been counting on him to help me move into my dorm.” She grinned at Michael. “But Michael helped me instead. And bought me pizza.”
Amy resisted rolling her eyes. “Do you know what upset him?”
“I couldn’t catch the words. Papa had appointed him manager of the Halifax dealership, and Gilles had been here a few months. He flew home to Montreal for the weekend. We could tell he was upset about something, but he’d only speak with Papa, in private.”
“Would you ask your father about it?”
Emilie’s mouth turned down. “I don’t know. He’s different now. So sad.”
Michael groaned. “Leave the man alone. Please say you don’t suspect him of killing his son.”
“Of course not!” Heat swept Amy’s face. “But whatever upset Gilles might be important.”
“You don’t think Luc could see that for himself?”
“Maybe he’s too broken to care.”
Chapter 6
Late Saturday morning, Amy carried a cup of tea into the gallery and flipped the sign to open. Not that she expected customers on such a rainy day. She’d glimpsed a stack of mail on the desk last night when they were unpacking. Might as well tackle it now.
She logged into the office computer and sorted envelopes while the email loaded. Junk, junk, request for a donation for the firefighters’ silent auction. Amy set that one aside. Michael might be interested. More junk. An envelope addressed to her. She slit it and pulled out a letter.
Dear Amy… A glance at the signature stopped her breath.
Aunt Bay tapped on the door jamb. “Don’t you think you deserve a break after your road trip?”
Amy gasped. Her fingers refolded the paper and clasped on top of it with a thump. “I—”
Michael’s aunt raised an eyebrow. “Am I intruding?”
“Of course not!” Her giggle sounded guilty. Or sick.
Aunt Bay advanced into the office and claimed the visitor’s chair. Ignoring the telltale paper, her shrewd gaze held Amy’s. “That’s not a good colour on you.”
Amy picked at her co
llar. What had she put on, again?
“Your face, child. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Really.” Amy smoothed the letter against the desk blotter. “I don’t know if I want to read it. It’s from—” She stared at her hands: ring-less, nails too short… twitchy.
“Not that reporter again. I’ll straighten him out.”
“No, Aunt Bay, it’s—” Amy sat taller. Pulled back her shoulders until they hurt. Looked Michael’s aunt in the eye. “My father and I are not on speaking terms.”
After a minute, the older woman nodded. “His choice, or yours?”
“His.” Complete with the threat of a restraining order if she communicated with him again. Heat swept Amy’s body. Gilles had said the man wouldn’t be at their wedding. Amy had known from her fiancé’s expression that he was angry, but he hadn’t shared the conversation. Definitely nothing about further contact being forbidden.
“Does he know about the accident?”
Amy nodded. Crushed by grief, unsure of her own injuries and cut off by Gilles’ mother, asking the father she’d never met for help had seemed better than continuing to rely on the kindness of virtual strangers. “Without you and Michael, I don’t know where I’d be.”
Aunt Bay’s lips formed a straight line as she studied Amy. “Have you tried to forgive him?”
“He doesn’t want me.”
“His loss. Forgiveness wouldn’t change his mind, but it would help you heal.”
“I am healing.” Amy rotated the letter on the desk.
“I’m talking about the ache in your spirit. The one that makes you think less of yourself. And avoid God.”
Amy pushed her chair back from the desk and stood. She snatched the letter, folded it smaller. Stuffed it in her pocket. “I can’t have this conversation right now.”
The phone rang when she was half-way to the door. Amy jerked back and picked up the handset. She recognized the soft, rapid tones of their neighbour, Safia.
“I’m sorry to impose when you’ve been away, but could I possibly come and get a package of Michael’s new cards? I need to visit a friend in the hospital.”
Amy met Aunt Bay’s eyes and mouthed Safia. “Come whenever you like. I’m sorry about your friend.”
“I’ll be there shortly. Thank you.”
Amy set the phone back in its cradle. “She needs some cards.”
Aunt Bay nodded. She hadn’t moved from her chair, likely hadn’t stopped watching Amy.
The woman’s patience was as powerful as direct speech. Amy sighed again. “Aunt Bay, I love you, but sometimes you push too hard.”
“How many times did you say that to your physiotherapist? The pushing, not the loving.”
Amy shook her head. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who’s actually incorrigible. You know that, right?”
“In that case, perhaps I’ll rescind my invitation.”
“You haven’t made an invitation.”
Aunt Bay smirked. “Tea and homemade cookies, this afternoon? Just the two of us.”
“What are you plotting?”
“Moi?” The older woman placed her palm on her chest, eyes artfully wide. Then her expression clouded. “Something’s not right with Michael. I want to know what happened while you were away.”
Amy perched on the edge of her chair and planted her elbows on the desk, supporting her chin in her hands. “It might be this sabotage thing. I can’t get it out of my head, even though it’s messing with my sleep. He’s so protective, he hates anything that might upset me.”
Aunt Bay’s eyes narrowed. “I still want to hear the rest. Although that could be it.”
“Safia will be here soon, and I should deal with our email, but you know how Troy suggested you pray about the sabotage idea? For the truth to come out? Have you?”
The gallery door chimed, and both women stood. As Amy stepped around the desk, Aunt Bay said, “If you’re asking did the Archangel Gabriel appear with an answer, no. But I find it interesting that the idea keeps coming up. Perhaps there’s a reason.” The lines around her mouth deepened. “I hope there isn’t.”
A chill drifted across Amy’s shoulders.
They stepped into the gallery as Safia closed the outer door. Rain spotted her headscarf and coat, and her little boy’s raincoat.
The boy made a dash for Aunt Bay. Behind him, his mother called, “You’re wet!”
Boots squeaking on the floor, he barrelled into Michael’s aunt. She caught his shoulders. “Well, now, Dafiq. What are you up to today?”
“We hafta go to the hospital and visit Mommy’s friend. I hafta be quiet.”
Aunt Bay snorted. “That should be interesting.”
Amy grinned, and stepped closer to Safia. “The cards are over here. Don’t worry about dripping rain. I have a mop in the office. Would you like us to keep him while you’re in the city?”
The neighbour’s dark eyes lit up, but she shook her head. “You’ll have too much to do after your trip.”
“Look at the two of them.” Aunt Bay had bent to the boy’s eye level. Whatever he was saying, he had her full attention.
Safia’s lips twitched. “She’s remarkably patient.”
“And effective. You go on your own. You’ll have a better visit.”
“Thank you.” Safia chose a package of cards and followed Amy into the office to pay. “May I use the edge of the desk to write my note?”
When they went back into the gallery, Dafiq was galloping in tight circles around Michael’s aunt, laughing. Aunt Bay had positioned herself in one of the few spots where the boy could move safely, and she called to Safia, “Let him stay and play.”
Amy grinned at her neighbour. “See?”
Once Dafiq said goodbye to his mother, Amy headed to the office for the mop. “I’ll catch the puddles, and join you two in a few minutes. I think Michael is going through photos from the trip, so we don’t have to worry about noise distracting his painting.”
She took time to skim emails, and dashed off a quick reply to a gift shop’s question. A message from Troy jolted her. Gilles’ flight club still won’t talk to me. Would you try? He included the club’s phone number. Amy jotted it on a slip of paper and stuck it in her pocket with her father’s letter. If she called, she’d better use her cell in private.
~~~
Flour and globs of cookie dough littered the kitchen counter. Amy tackled it with a wet dishcloth while Aunt Bay supervised Dafiq’s hand-and-face washing in the bathroom. The warm, sweet aroma wafting from the oven had them all smiling.
The timer beeped, and Amy slid her hands into oven mitts to bring out the first tray. Dafiq bounded into the room with a whoop, and climbed into his favourite chair at the table.
As Aunt Bay poured the boy a glass of milk, Michael stepped through the back door, dripping rain. He inhaled deeply. “Perfect timing!”
Dafiq pointed at the water on the floor. “You hafta take your boots off right there, or they won’t let you have any cookies.”
Michael grinned. “And you have to visit more often, so I’ll get more cookies.” He set his boots by the door, and hung his hat and coat on the doorknob.
Amy reached for the carafe. “Coffee?”
“Did I mention you’re my favourite assistant?” Michael ruffled the boy’s loose curls, then settled on the chair beside him.
She slanted him a look. “I’m your only assistant. And this does not count as ‘other duties as assigned.’ Where were you?”
“Down by the water with my camera. I took some interesting shots.”
Amy set his mug on the table and filled a plate with gooey chocolate chip cookies. Behind her, Dafiq said, “Sometimes my mommy sends me out to play in the rain, too.”
“Careful with these. The chocolate is still hot.” Amy plopped a stack of paper napkins on the table with the cookies. She pulled out a chair as Aunt Bay joined them with two cups of tea. Amy slid a cup toward herself. Sitting felt good. “Thanks.”
> Safia arrived just as they finished cleaning up. Aunt Bay had tasked the “men” with washing the cookie sheets. Dafiq ran to his mother with a metal tray in one hand and a tea towel in the other. “Look what they let me do!”
Amy smiled behind his back. “How’s your friend?”
“She’ll be fine. It was routine surgery, but she finds the time long.”
Amy remembered the feeling. Aunt Bay and Michael had spent an incredible amount of time with her in the hospital, but the nights had crawled by.
When Safia and Dafiq left, Aunt Bay motioned to Amy. “I need a little lie-down before our chat.”
Amy followed her up the stairs and went into her own room. She unrolled her exercise mat and worked through her physio stretches, then unplugged her phone from its charger. No messages. Surprise.
It couldn’t hurt to phone the flight club. She pulled the papers from her pocket, dropped the letter on her bureau, and keyed in the number.
“Halifax Flight Club.” The gruff voice didn’t make it easier.
“Hi, um, this is Amy Silver. I was in that crash a few years ago with Gilles Renaud? Is there someone I could talk to?”
The man on the phone took his time responding. In the background, another male voice shouted, and something metal crashed. “Listen, miss. Even if you came in here with proof you’re legit and not some tabloid writer, there’s nothing to say. The investigators ruled it an accident. If you’re really her, I’m sorry for your loss and for what you’ve been through. But spreading rumours won’t bring him back.” He hung up.
Amy hurled the phone onto the bed. It bounced hard and hit the floor. Growling, she spun on her heel and stalked out of the room.
~~~
Later, in the living room, Aunt Bay fixed Amy with a stare. “Now that it’s quiet, give me the scoop on your trip.”
Amy leaned one elbow on the armrest. Should she ask the older woman to tackle the surly guy from the flying club? What good would it do, other than revenge?
Beatrice and Michael had fought enough of Amy’s battles since the accident. This one she’d handle on her own. Or better still, let it go. The man and his attitude weren’t worth it. He probably didn’t know anything useful, anyway, or he’d have told the investigators.
Without Proof Page 4