I stood up beside him. “Will do, and thanks, Steve. I’m glad that you’re not upset about Wendy.”
He paused to look down at her. “Nah, I love dogs, and she’s a peach. Bye girl. Bye Anna.” He nodded and left the porch while I took Wendy inside the house. She had a big, long drink, and then I gave her a jerky treat. Talk about mixed messages, but she had just defended me.
“I think you’ve got the right idea, girl,” I said, headed for bed with her following me down the hallway. “Men are just trouble, and I’m through with them.”
Chapter Six
The following morning was Sunday. Sunday mornings I attended church at St. Bernadette’s, and today was no exception. I waited to hear the church bells ring before I dashed out my door, not wanting arrive at church early enough to have time to chat with my fellow parishioners. When I got there, Father Winfield was waiting at the back of the church with his three altar servers. I nodded to him and slipped into the first available empty pew just as the hymn began and the procession started up the aisle. My neighbour, Betty Hiller, hurried in behind them and sat down at the end of my pew. During the offertory collection, Betty slid across the pew to sit beside me.
“Hi Anna, how’re you doing? Jeff and I were so upset to hear about your husband’s death,” she whispered. “You have our sympathies.” Jeff, Betty’s husband, was a volunteer firefighter who could be called out on an emergency at any time, so he slept late on Sunday mornings as often as Betty let him. She volunteered with the church babysitting service, and had probably waited in the nursery until just after the hymn began to see if anyone required her help. “Thank you, Betty. I’m okay, thanks for asking. How are you and Jeff?” I whispered, trying to keep the conversation short. Betty could talk your ear off, and I had had to dissuade her from visiting too often when we first became neighbours.
“We’re both fine. So – did you hear what happened to Henry Fellows’ restaurant this morning?”
That wasn’t the question I had expected. “No, did something happen?” I asked, my eyebrows raised.
“I’ll say,” she said, her short blond curls trembling with excitement. “Somebody plowed his car right into Henry’s restaurant first thing this morning. Henry was inside getting breakfast ready when it happened. He wasn’t hurt very badly, but he could have been. The car drove right through the wall and demolished half his kitchen before taking off again. Henry went into shock, and the EMS took him to the hospital. But the really disturbing news was what he told one of the ambulance attendants after it happened. He said that Frank was driving the car that did it – that Frank had tried to kill him!”
I stared at her for a moment before remembering to close my mouth. “You have got to be kidding. That is the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard. Why would Frank want to kill Henry Fellows?” I asked.
“Henry claimed that Frank is afraid of the competition from his new restaurant, so he drove into Henry’s kitchen to destroy it, trying to make it look like a hit-and-run accident. You ought to see it. There’s an enormous hole in the wall facing the side street and part of the roof collapsed. I saw it on the way to church this morning.”
“What about Frank? Has anybody seen him?” I asked.
“No, he and Judy supposedly left for Lethbridge last night to visit Judy’s mother.”
The congregation stood up as Father Winfield began the communion prayers, and Betty and I had to cut short our conversation. The remainder of the service was a blur, I’m ashamed to say, because I couldn’t stop thinking about the bizarre news. I very much wanted to see the damage for myself, so as the last notes of the recessional hymn died away, I nodded to Betty, bid Father a brief good morning at the church door, and rushed out into the street. St. Bernadette’s Church was three blocks behind Main Street, so it took all of three minutes for me to trot over there.
As I hurried down Main Street toward Hank’s Hearty Home-Cooking, I could see a police cruiser and a fire truck parked out front. An officer was sitting in the car writing. Orange plastic cones blocked off traffic to the side street where the kitchen was located. I hurried around the corner, noting the yellow tape around the building intended to keep folks out of harm’s way. My eyes were riveted to the damage. Betty was right; there was a big hole in the side of the restaurant, and the roof over the damaged section had collapsed. Shingles, insulation, broken bits of siding, and plastic were scattered across the sidewalk and along the boulevard where the grass was all torn up. A couple of guys from the fire department were starting to nail heavy green plastic over the hole. I walked right up to the yellow tape to have a look inside the kitchen while it was still visible. The place was a disaster. There were broken cupboards, boxes and cans, flour, pots, pans, and utensils strewn all across the floor. The fridge was tipped over, and dishes of food and cartons of eggs and milk had spilled out, adding to the mess. The only good thing was that the deep fat fryer and the stove were on the other side of the room, or else the kitchen might have gone up in flames. I shook my head, wondering who could have done such a crazy thing. While I was looking, Steve Walker and a local insurance agent, Harold Gibbs, emerged from the alley behind the restaurant. Steve was gesturing towards the fat black tire tracks cut into the boulevard’s soft earth while Gibbs nodded and made notes on a clip board.
I followed them and overheard Steve saying, “Judging by the tire tracks, it looks like a full-sized truck went through the wall. It had to be heavy enough to break through the siding and the wall studs clear on through into the kitchen. There weren’t any skid marks on the street to indicate that the driver applied his brakes prior to hitting the building, so the damage was intentional.”
“Right,” said Gibbs.
“He – or she – came down the side street and made a right-hand turn into the building. Had the perpetrator wanted to do some real damage, he could have hit the front of the building from Main Street and gone through the plate glass window, the seating area, and into the kitchen. Good thing he didn’t – the damage would have been much worse if he had hit the gas line.”
“Yup,” said Gibbs.
Steve looked up and saw me standing behind the insurance agent. He nodded. “Hi Anna,” he said.
“Hi Steve. Are you the only RCMP officer in Crane?”
He smiled. “Sometimes it feels that way.”
“Pretty bizarre, eh?” I said, gesturing at the building.
“Yeah, haven’t seen anything like it before. Who’d drive into a building on purpose?”
“So, you don’t think that it could have been accidental, or that maybe a drunk driver did it?” I asked.
Steve pointed at the tire tracks on the boulevard. “Nah – even a drunk would have tried to brake when the truck came up over the curb. There’s no sign of it. The driver drove off the road and into the building without decreasing speed. This was definitely done on purpose. Whoever it was, it’s going to be impossible to hide the damage to his vehicle. We’ll catch him for sure.”
I took a step closer to the two men and lowered my voice. “Steve, I heard some nutty talk about Henry blaming Frank for the accident.”
Steve looked down at his boot and knocked some mud off the heel. “Between you, me, and Mr. Gibbs here, yeah, Mr. Fellows was saying something about that to the EMS guys, but he was pretty upset and going into shock when he said it. I don’t know if he actually saw anything – Mr. Fellows was knocked down from behind.”
“Are you trying to track Frank down?”
“Yeah, they called him this morning at Judy’s mother’s house in Lethbridge and suggested that he and Judy return sooner rather than later. They’re on their way.”
Mr. Gibbs, a stocky, middle-aged man with a fringe of rust-coloured hair around a pink dome, spoke up. “Hey, Anna, I’ve been hearing some pretty interesting talk about you this week, too. Two crimes in Crane in one week – it’s practically a crime wave.” He gave me a big wink. “Steve, I hope you can protect the rest of us from these dangerous criminal types.”
I blushed, and Steve took Gibbs by the arm. “See you around, Anna,” he said, leading Gibbs away. I decided to avoid conversation with the knot of gawkers chatting on the sidewalk and went home. When I got there, the forensics squad was waiting for me. It felt as if the whole world had gone crazy.
Chapter Seven
It felt weird going back to work on Monday morning as if everything were fine and my whole life hadn’t been turned upside down by Jack’s murder, but I had a living to earn, so I went. To make matters worse, it was raining and misty and visibility was poor, so I drove into Calgary with extra caution. There were herds of deer that wintered in the fields alongside the roads, attracted by the hay the ranchers left out for their horses and cattle, and they could jump in front of your car in a matter of seconds. Still, I managed to make it safely into the city and parked in the university lot. Hurrying through the rain into the main building and down the hallway, I passed a couple of early bird students waiting for their instructors. I arrived at the Kinesiology Department office, unlocked the door, flicked on the lights, and hung my coat on the back of the door. Re-opening it, I looked across the hall and saw that my boss hadn’t arrived yet. Grateful for some early morning peace, I sank into my chair and turned on the computer. Seconds later, Dr. Bryan Carmichael materialized on my door step. Bryan, a muscular young man with a shaved head and a silver ear stud, was dressed casually in a t-shirt and sweat pants. The dress code was pretty relaxed for Kinesiology instructors because their teaching involved physical demonstrations and lab work.
“Hi Anna, how’s it going? Did you have a good weekend?” he asked. Obviously, he hadn’t read the Record’s report of Jack’s death.
“Not bad,” I said. “You?”
“Pretty good. I’ve got my spring course outline ready for printing. Do you have any Printing Services forms?”
“Sure – they’re right over there on top of the cabinet,” I said, pointing to the credenza that held all the forms.
“Oops, I always forget where you keep those things. My bad.” He grinned. “I’ll just grab a few and get out of your hair.”
“Okay Bryan,” I said, entering my computer password.
After he left, the mail cart rumbled down the hallway and stopped outside my door. Alice Cobb, the Chinook University mail person for the past twenty-seven years, walked into my office with a bundle of mail in her arms. She was a compact, wiry woman who always wore her long grey hair plaited in a single braid down her back.
“Morning Anna,” she said, dumping her load into my inbox and removing the outgoing mail. “How was your drive in this morning?”
I looked up at Alice and smiled. I liked Alice; she had taken me under her wing when I arrived four years ago, explaining how things worked and where to find the kinesiology labs. “Pretty dismal with the rain. How was yours?”
“The same,” Alice said. Like me, she preferred living in a small town outside of Calgary and commuting to work. “Say Anna, I saw a picture of Jack Nolan in Saturday’s paper. He was your ex-husband, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Sorry for your loss but, gee, he was a good-looking guy. Thick hair, nice eyes, great body. Yum! I wouldn’t have been too quick to kick him out of bed.” Alice talked big, but she’d been with the same guy for thirty-five years. I’d never met her Mike, but I’d heard so much about him over the years that he seemed like a good friend. She sat down on the edge of my desk and fiddled with her braid.
“I don’t know about that, Alice. You were probably a lot savvier when you got married than I was. Maybe you wouldn’t have let him into your bed in the first place.”
“Oh. You mean pretty boy, but not a lot of substance, eh?” she said, winking at me.
“That about sums him up, Alice,” I replied with a smile. Alice had a way of getting to the point that I appreciated. Unfortunately, our conversation was interrupted by the sound of high heels tapping down the hallway. Alice jumped up and said, “Catch you later, Anna,” before hurrying out the door.
“Bye Alice,” I called after her.
Magdalena stuck her perfectly-coiffed head into my office and said, “Good morning, Anna.”
“Morning Magdalena.”
“I have a meeting with the Dean at 9:00. Have you got that budget report ready?”
I scooped up a binder from the top of my desk and held it out to her. Magdalena walked the rest of the way into my office, as beautifully turned out as always in a brown tweed suit with a lavender scarf tucked into the neckline of her cream-coloured blouse. The strap of her tailored leather briefcase was slung over one shoulder, and her pointy-toed, chocolate-brown stiletto pumps didn’t look as if they had just tramped through a muddy parking lot. I felt inferior in a navy and white-striped cotton sweater over navy slacks with sensible black flats. Her blond hair was swept up into a neat French twist, while I held back my shoulder-length brunette hair with gold barrettes.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the report. “I hope that you’re feeling better. Did you have a nice weekend?” As she studied me, I wondered if she had seen Saturday’s newspaper report of Jack’s death. Silly me – of course she had. Magdalena always kept up with the news.
“I’m much better, thank you,” I answered, ignoring the question about my weekend and not volunteering any information about the murder. If she wanted to know about Jack, she was going to have to come right out and ask me.
“Good. The meeting should run about two hours. Please ask Bryan to drop by my office at 11:10.”
“Certainly, Magdalena.”
“Thank you.” She nodded, turned on her heel, and strode away. I exhaled and relaxed. Magdalena and I had worked together for two years now, but I would certainly not classify our working relationship as “close.” She knew about Ben – I had introduced him to her at the start of the fall term – but I’d never discussed my marriage with her. It might be a foolhardy wish, but I hoped to avoid that topic now, especially since Jack had been murdered. I suspected that my boss would blame me for allowing my life to become messy. Magdalena liked to run a tidy ship, and she wanted all of her crew members to be ship-shape.
I managed to avoid her in a day heavy with meetings and sped off home as soon as the work day was over, thrilled that I hadn’t been forced to discuss Jack’s death with anyone but Alice. When I got home, Wendy greeted me with her usual ecstatic tail-thumping and rear end-wiggling routine, and I let her out into the back yard. Kicking off my shoes and heading toward the bedroom to change out of my work clothes, I heard the doorbell ring. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was 5:05. Who would be calling on me at this time of day?
The man standing at my front door was a complete stranger. I considered myself of average female height at 5’5”, but I had to crane my head upwards to see his face. He must have been 6’4”, and lean. He wore a tailored black suit, grey shirt, and a silver and blue-striped silk tie. He was young – maybe thirty – and clean-shaven with close-cropped, blond hair.
“Anna Nolan?” he asked, and I nodded. I wondered who he could be. He was too expensively dressed to be a door-to-door evangelist.
He held some ID up before my eyes. “Mrs. Nolan, I’m Sergeant Charles Tremaine of the RCMP. I’ve been asked to lead the investigation into your ex-husband’s death. There are a few questions I’d like to ask. May I come in?”
I stared at the picture on his ID and raised my gaze to his face. His cool grey eyes looked back at me. “Where’s Steve Walker?” I asked. “I thought that he was the officer conducting the investigation?”
“Constable Walker has been assigned to another case. I work with a national criminal unit that investigates homicides throughout western Canada.” He paused and waited for me to respond. In the ensuing silence, I realized that Wendy was barking at the deck door. She must have heard the doorbell ring and got excited. She didn’t like it when people came into the house while she was stranded outside.
“Yes, of course, come in. Please take a seat in
the living room. I just have to let my dog back in.”
Sergeant Tremaine followed me into the house and stayed in the living room while I opened the kitchen slider for Wendy. She went bounding past me headed straight for the living room. Not wanting the officer in charge of my ex-husband’s murder investigation to be molested by my dog, I rushed into the living room, just in time to see her sniffing Tremaine’s outstretched hand. He squatted down to scratch behind her ear, and she sat at his feet.
“I see you’ve made a friend,” I said. He rose and sank his hands into his trouser pockets. “Her name is Wendy,” I said, attempting to be pleasant.
“Hello Wendy,” he said solemnly before looking back at me.
“Please, have a seat,” I repeated. He extended a hand toward the couch and waited for me to sit before taking an armchair. He might be stiff, but he had good manners. “I can tell that you’re not from around here,” I said, making nervous conversation. Tremaine spoke with a rather posh British accent.
“No,” he replied. “Mrs. Nolan, I understand from Constable Walker that it had been a number of years since you last spoke with your ex-husband.”
“Four. Why was Steve Walker assigned to another investigation?”
“Constable Walker was re-assigned because your friendship constituted a conflict of interest. Why do you insist that you hadn’t spoken with Mr. Nolan for four years when his cell phone showed that he called you on the night of his murder?”
“I don’t know why Jack called me that night, but as you must know, I was at a book club meeting when he called. I didn’t speak to Jack, and since he was already dead when I found him, I have no idea what he wanted. If Steve was removed from the case, why wasn’t Eddy Mason from the local station assigned in his place?”
Tremaine considered me for a moment, and I followed his glance down to my stockinged feet. I felt at a disadvantage beside this elegant man. “Mrs. Nolan,” he said, but I interrupted him before he could continue.
Framed For Murder (An Anna Nolan Mystery) Page 4