Shallow End

by Brenda Chapman

  Sophie opened the front passenger door and climbed in, bringing a blast of cold air with her. Snow was predicted for the weekend, but by then they’d be lying on a beach in the hot tropical sun. She dropped her schoolbag onto the floor and buckled her seat belt without saying anything.

  “How was your day?” Hilary asked as she started the car.

  “Okay.” Sophie was looking out her side window when she asked, “Are we going home or right to the airport?”

  “Airport. Did your teachers send along some homework?”

  “Mr. Casey wants me to keep a journal of the trip and Mrs. Samuels sent some math sheets. They told me to relax and have fun.”

  “I bought some books for you to read.”

  “Great.” Her voice was without enthusiasm.

  Sophie was asleep by the time they merged onto the 401 on the way to Toronto. The flight left in the evening but Hilary wanted to make sure they arrived good and early. Toronto rush hour traffic would add time to the trip through the city even though they’d stay on the major highway. Sophie had been sleeping a lot since she returned home from the hospital, spending the weekends in her pajamas and needing to be roused for meals, meals that neither of them had wanted. Hilary hoped this trip would break through her depression.

  On the outskirts of Toronto, Sophie opened her eyes and stretched. She promptly plugged in her earphones and listened to music the rest of the way, effectively shutting off conversation. Hilary didn’t press. She’d do what Sophie’s therapist advised and take things slowly. Traffic was steady but moving at a good clip and they arrived at Pearson Airport ahead of schedule. She found a spot in long-term parking and Sophie helped with the luggage. They made it through security without any delays.

  “Let’s go into the restaurant and have supper,” Hilary said once they started down the corridor toward their gate. “We have two hours to relax before our flight.”

  Their drinks arrived and Hilary was taking a sip of wine when she noticed a man staring at her from two tables over. She held the glass in front of her mouth and said to Sophie, “Don’t look now but someone from Daddy’s office is about to come over. Let me do the talking.”

  She stood and let Preston Weaver envelop her in a hug. “I’m so devastated by all that happened,” he said, holding her at arm’s length. “We still can’t believe that Mitchell is gone.”

  “Thank you. This has been a horrible time for us but we’re doing better.”

  Sophie’s abuse at the hands of Ivan Bruster and Devon’s role in making it happen had been kept from the media. They’d reported on Jane Thompson’s wrongful conviction, but as so often happened in the world of public opinion, many felt sympathy for Devon and believed something had gone on to make him behave as he had. People couldn’t believe a boy with so much going for him would lie without a reason. Hilary supposed that evil was not easy to get one’s head around, for she knew now that her son had been just that.

  Preston dropped his hands but seemed in no hurry to leave. “That’s good to hear. Mitchell was a stand-up guy and such a loss.” He looked at Sophie and gave her a brave smile. “Where are you headed?”

  Hilary answered for them both. “Bermuda.”

  He turned his face back to look at her. “You’ll need a break after all that happened. I’m off to Florida.” He paused and Hilary knew he was waiting for her to ask him about his trip. When she kept silent, he said, “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time but wanted to say how sorry I am and to let you know that nobody blamed Mitchell for what happened. Anyone can lose it given the right pressures.”

  “Thanks for saying that.”

  Hilary sat and willed the fluttering in her chest to calm down. Would it always be this way when someone from Mitchell’s past approached?

  Sophie was watching her. “When are you going to tell the police?” she asked.

  Hilary had been waiting for Sophie to ask this question since the night Sergeant Rouleau had come by the house to tell them Mitchell had shot himself in the head. She reached across the table and took Sophie’s hand. “Daddy wanted the police to believe that he killed Devon. He made sure the police were told that.”

  “But he didn’t kill Devon.” Sophie pulled her hand away and dropped it into her lap. “You did.”

  Hilary kept her voice calm with effort. “Do you want me to confess, Sophie? I will if that’s what you want.”

  The waitress arrived to take their order and they didn’t speak again until she’d gone. Hilary tried to meet Sophie’s eyes, but she was looking into her drink glass and punching the straw up and down against the ice. “What is it you want me to do?” Hilary asked again. “Tell me and I’ll do it.”

  “I don’t want you to confess to the police.” Sophie looked up at last. “I want to forget … everything that happened that night.”

  “Then we’ll make a pact to never speak about this again. Agreed, Sophie?”

  Sophie nodded, tears sparkling in her eyes. Hilary took her hand again and clasped it between both of hers. A boy at the next table laughed, and Hilary jolted back in horror as if she’d been struck. The boy’s laughter could have been Devon’s that night he’d told them what he’d done to Sophie. She took deep breaths and turned slowly in her seat to assure herself that it was not her son.

  She wasn’t sure how many times she’d hit Devon with the poker she’d grabbed from the fireplace. She couldn’t even remember picking up the weapon or raising it over her head. Mitchell had grabbed her arm and pulled her off and she’d collapsed on the floor, her rage spent and nothing left to keep her upright. Sophie’s screaming had echoed off the walls and ceiling for a long time afterward. Mitchell had been left to comfort her and clean up the mess. Even now when Hilary closed her eyes, she could see in detail the pulpy mess she’d made of Devon’s head and hear the gurgle of his last breath. The image returned to haunt her days and kept her from sleeping night after night after night.

  Hilary brushed the hair back from Sophie’s face and ran her fingers down the side of her cheek. She said to convince herself as much as Sophie, “Devon isn’t going to win this time. Not this time.” They locked eyes and Hilary would not let Sophie look away.

  The waitress arrived and Hilary pushed back her chair to give her room to set down their plates of food. She and Sophie picked up their forks and Sophie dug into the french fries, filling her mouth so that her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. She smiled at Hilary as she chewed and Hilary thought she’d never have imagined that the sight of her daughter eating again would fill her with such joy. She watched Sophie pick up her hamburger with both hands before scooping pasta onto her fork. For the first time in a long time, her own hunger had returned and it seemed that she couldn’t get the food into her mouth fast enough: fettucine, salad, garlic bread, a second glass of red wine — she and Sophie scraped their plates clean and ordered more buns and a second round of wine and 7UP. They swallowed every last bite and emptied their glasses before deciding they still had room left over for dessert.

  And sometime between the chocolate sundaes and the plane landing in Bermuda, Hilary knew that she and Sophie were going to be all right.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to acknowledge the great Dundurn team working behind the scenes to bring this book and other Canadian fiction and non-fiction to the shelves. I was fortunate to have editors Shannon Whibbs, Kathryn Lane, Cheryl Hawley, and Shari Rutherford finessing my words and making Shallow End come together. Thanks also to my publicist Michelle Melski and to Margaret Bryant. The cover design comes from the creative and talented designer Laura Boyle. As always, I owe a debt of gratitude to Dundurn president Kirk Howard and vice-president Beth Bruder, for continuing to bring Canadian stories to a broad and growing readership.

  I would also like to thank the readers who have emailed me directly about the series, posted reviews, and recommended the books to their friends.
I’m fortunate to have a loyal group of friends who’ve been with me every step of the way from my first young adult mystery, and I owe each of you my gratitude. I would like to make mention of a few stalwarts: Janice and Peter Murdoch, Bill and Kathy Adair, Jan and Frank Bowick, Dawn Rayner, Helen Brown, Ann and Ken Cooke, Kathleen and Paul Schiemann, Denis Fabris and Carol Gage, Kathryn and Claus Anthonisen, Wendy Pell and Keith Carlson, Nancy Pell, Maureen Johnston and Jim McIntyre, Mona and Bruce Simpson, Margaret Cody, Darlene Cole, Katherine Hobbs, Fred Taylor, Glenda Stewart, Judith Kalil, Michael Murphy, Susan Rothery, Janet Claridge, Joanne Lynn…. I could go on … (and will next time!)

  A special thank you to Jim Sherman, owner of Perfect Books, for your friendship and support.

  And last, but not least, thank you to all of my family who offer support from afar and to Lisa, Robin, Julia, and Ted, who continue to make the journey fun. With a special thank you to my mom, Ollie Chapman, for your belief in the possibilities.

  In the Same Series

  Cold Mourning

  Nominated for the 2015 Arthur Ellis Award for Best Novel

  It’s a week before Christmas when wealthy businessman Tom Underwood disappears into thin air — with more than enough people wanting him dead.

  New police recruit Kala Stonechild, who has left her northern Ontario detachment to join a specialized Ottawa crime unit, is tasked with returning Underwood home in time for the holidays. Stonechild, who is from a First Nations reserve, is a lone wolf who is used to surviving on her wits. Her new boss, Detective Jacques Rouleau, has his hands full controlling her, his team, and an investigation that keeps threatening to go off track.

  Old betrayals and complicated family relationships brutally collide when love turns to hate and murder stalks a family.

  Butterfly Kills

  Jacques Rouleau has moved to Kingston to look after his father and take up the position of head of the town’s Criminal Investigations Division. One hot week in late September, university student Leah Sampson is murdered in her apartment. In another corner of the city, Della Munroe is raped by her husband. At first the crimes appear unrelated, but as Sergeant Rouleau and his new team of officers dig into the women’s pasts, they discover unsettling coincidences. When Kala Stonechild, one of Rouleau’s former officers from Ottawa, suddenly appears in Kingston, Rouleau enlists her to help.

  Stonechild isn’t sure if she wants to stay in Kingston, but agrees to help Rouleau in the short term. While she struggles with trying to decide if she can make a life in this new town, a ghost from her past starts to haunt her.

  As the detectives delve deeper into the cases, it seems more questions pop up than answers. Who murdered Leah Sampson? And why does Della Monroe’s name keep showing up in the murder investigation? Both women were hiding secrets that have unleashed a string of violence. Stonechild and Rouleau race to discover the truth before the violence rips more families apart.

  Tumbled Graves

  When Adele Delaney and her daughter, Violet, go missing, Jacques Rouleau is called upon to investigate. However, struggling with the impending death of his ill ex-wife, he sends Kala Stonechild and Paul Gundersund instead. Stonechild has been trying to adapt to life as her young cousin Dawn’s guardian, and even though Gundersund has offered support, Stonechild is at risk of losing custody.

  On the second day of the investigation, Adele’s body turns up, dumped on the shoulder of the highway with no sign of her daughter. Her husband, Ivo, denies any involvement with either his wife’s death or their child’s disappearance, but not everyone is convinced. As the investigation unfolds, Stonechild learns that Adele was once entangled with a Montreal biker gang and heads to Quebec to investigate further.

  As Stonechild and Gundersund juggle personal troubles and a complicated, dangerous case, they find themselves piecing together a chain of disasters leading back to a single betrayal.

  Copyright © Brenda Chapman, 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purpose of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

  All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover image: © Ian Lim/123RF

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Chapman, Brenda, 1955-, author

  Shallow end / Brenda Chapman.

  (A Stonechild and Rouleau mystery)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4597-3510-1 (paperback).--ISBN 978-1-4597-3511-8 (pdf).--

  ISBN 978-1-4597-3512-5 (epub)

  I. Title. II. Series: Chapman, Brenda, 1955- . Stonechild and

  Rouleau mystery.

  PS8605.H36S53 2017 C813›.6 C2016-905282-6

  C2016-905283-4

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and the Ontario Media Development Corporation, and the Government of Canada.

  Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.

  J. Kirk Howard, President

  The publisher is not responsible for websites or their content unless they are owned by the publisher.