You Again

by Val Tobin

  “I’m not avoiding anything. We need to find out what happened.”

  “You’re not angry with anything I said?”

  His eyes widened as he processed what her question implied. “No. You told the truth. I expected nothing less.”

  “I didn’t want to tell him everything about what we suspect. It might not be true.”

  “You did fine. You’re not hiding anything. There’s nothing to tell.”

  Feeling lighter than she had since Gabriel reappeared in her life, Ellen followed him to Francesca’s office and got to work.

  ***

  At lunchtime, Ellen slipped from the office and grabbed a quick bite at the deli down the street. She hadn’t seen Gabriel all day and, quite frankly, needed the time to think. In the sandwich shop, she ran into Carl Walker, and when he invited her to sit with him, she agreed. She set her tray across from him on the table, and once she removed her coat and draped it over her chair, she sat down.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while, Carl. How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks. You?”

  “I’m good. You visiting BRI today?”

  He shook his head and took a slurp of whatever dark soft drink he had in the cup in front of him before he replied. “I’m next door. I might pop into BRI to check in on the accounts and say hi to Gabe. I hear he’s there today—will probably be here every day for the foreseeable future.”

  “Yes.”

  “You working together now?”

  She ignored the question as something occurred to her. “Have you visited BRI over the last three years?”

  “Yeah, regularly. Why?”

  “So, you knew Francesca Newton?”

  “Sure. Shame about what happened to her.”

  Ellen nodded and bit into her pastrami sandwich. She chewed in silence, hoping he’d fill the void with chatter about the dead woman, and he did just that.

  “I saw her that last day she worked at BRI, actually.” He sipped his drink again before continuing. “She looked fine, you know? Not like someone about to go home and off herself. That happened a week later, but still, she couldn’t have gotten that depressed in one week.”

  “Did she ever strike you as someone who was depressed?”

  “Never.”

  “Stressed?”

  “No. Well, not more than anyone would be when they worked on finances and had deadlines to meet. She had problems, but I didn’t think she had serious problems.”

  “Did you ever go out with her?”

  “You mean like on a date?”

  “Well, no. She was married, wasn’t she?”

  “Yeah, so we kept it friendly. Had lunch in this very deli sometimes. She was fun. Good to hang out with but not my type.”

  What was Carl’s type? Why even mention a type if she was unavailable? Did Carl think her too young? He was the same age as Gabriel—thirty-four. Francesca had been what? Twenty-three? Twenty-four at the most. Katrina wasn’t much older, something else to infuriate Ellen about the other woman’s relationship with Gabriel. Katrina was twenty-six, and while the age difference shouldn’t matter, to Ellen it did, mostly because it was Katrina and Gabriel. She shook off those thoughts and returned to her conversation with Carl.

  “She ever confide in you?”

  Instead of answering the question, Carl studied her in silence and then said, “What’s with the third degree?”

  “I’m curious. Carl, I’m digging through a dead woman’s work. I would like to understand what happened to her. It’s ... unnerving.”

  “All right. No, she didn’t confide in me about her work, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Ellen stared at her plate for a moment, then raised her head to meet his gaze. “Did she ever confide in you about her personal life?”

  “I don’t know if I feel comfortable answering that question.”

  “I’m not asking you to betray a confidence or to gossip about her.”

  “Then what? Because that’s how it feels to me.” He’d finished his food and looked as if he wanted to flee the scene.

  “Either something made her kill herself or ...” She couldn’t bring herself to say someone might have killed Francesca. Murdered her. It was surreal to know a murder victim. “If there’s something that could help the police ... Did you have lunch with her often? She consider you a friend?”

  “Don’t push it, Ellen.” He stood. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Wait! Just wait!”

  He glared at her. “I’d say it was nice catching up, but it really wasn’t.”

  “Tell me this: did you hear from her after Gabriel fired her?”

  He slowly sat down again. “Yeah.”

  She waited, afraid that if she pressed him, he’d clam up.

  His face scrunched up as if he’d tasted something sour. “You want to help her?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “She called me at work the day she died.”

  Ellen sucked in a breath and held it.

  “Said she wanted to meet. We were going to meet at a coffee shop near her apartment.”

  She let the breath out. “What happened?”

  “I went to meet her, and she never showed.”

  Ellen didn’t ask why Francesca never showed. They both knew the answer to that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  For the rest of the afternoon Ellen kept her head down and her face in BRI’s financial data. By the time Gabriel ducked his head into the office to ask her if she was ready to leave, she still had at least ten days’ worth of work ahead of her. But she set everything aside, organized the file folders she’d pulled from the file cabinet, and arranged them so she could pick it all up where she’d left off in the morning.

  Gabriel helped her with her coat, and they made small talk as they locked her office door and walked to the elevator. By some unspoken agreement, neither brought up the subject of Francesca, her death, or suspicious activity in the accounts. They kept the conversation light, casual. If they touched on BRI, it was superficial observations about the corporate culture or the various people who worked there, most of whom Ellen had worked with in the past. Ellen also made sure not to steer the conversation to Katrina or to Carl, but she intended to broach both as a topic of conversation once they’d settled in at the restaurant.

  To her surprise, Gabriel led her to his car in the underground parking.

  “Aren’t we walking to Foundation?” she asked when he pressed the garage button on the elevator down.

  “No, I thought we’d check out this new Italian restaurant near my place.”

  “Where might that be?” She’d never had the opportunity to see his place. He’d had an apartment on Lake Shore Boulevard before he’d left for England, but she didn’t want to assume he still lived there.

  “Still on Lake Shore. The restaurant is close to my place. We can park in the underground at my apartment complex and walk down.”

  “I’m not going back to your place after,” she warned.

  “I’m not expecting you to. We’ll have a nice dinner together, talk about what we both want, and then, you can grab a cab home.”

  They reached his BMW, and he opened the door for her. She slid into the seat and made herself comfortable. The car still had that new smell, which told her he’d bought it when he returned from England.

  The driver’s door opened and Gabriel climbed in.

  “We never had the chance to catch up,” she said. “How were things in England? What was it like?”

  He told her as they drove to the restaurant, and she got the impression he’d enjoyed working there.

  “The people were great. Not so much the weather though. Rained a lot more there than it does here. Less snow all around, which is a plus.” He laughed.

  “Did you stay in touch with people at BRI?” It hadn’t occurred to her he might, but it would make sense.

  “Yes. If I needed overflow programmers, a practical solution was to call on them. The British pound is bett
er than the Canadian dollar, so I got a deal when you factor in the exchange.”

  She thought about how that connected to the work she was doing and what invoices she should look at. “Did you deal with Francesca?”

  “No. I had a controller who handled invoices. My job’s more high-level than that, Ellen. I don’t handle the details.”

  “You heard nothing from or about her? I’m trying to get a feel for her day-to-day activities and how everything flowed. I’ll take care of your invoices and billing, no problem—I remember well how everything worked, and it hasn’t changed too much since I was last here. But I want to understand how she worked. Her routine. I’ll also have to interview the clients she talked to, the vendors she billed.”

  “I understand, but I really can’t help you with that.”

  “Who could?”

  As he pondered, she checked out the surroundings. They’d arrived at Lake Shore, and she peered out over Lake Ontario. Grey clouds loomed heavy over everything, and the water crashed into the shore, spewing up froth. No ice had formed over any of it yet, but it all looked cold and dreary.

  “The clients and vendors are easy enough.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “There are records of those, but if some are fake, I’ll want to talk to anyone at BRI who might have had anything to do with submitting invoices. Who took over for her when she went on vacation, for example?”

  He stared at her, surprise on his face. “I don’t know. I’ve never known her to take time off.”

  “I’ll verify with HR, but that seems odd to me.”

  Why would Francesca never take a vacation in three years? I should ask her husband.

  ***

  They sat across from each other at a table for two in a cozy Italian restaurant with dark wood, soft lighting from wall sconces, and flickering candles on the tables. Piano music played lightly in the background. Each had a glass of wine in front of them and a bottle of Valpolicella between them. He’d normally consider the ambience romantic, except that Ellen had already broached the subject of Katrina, which took all the wind out of his romance sails.

  “I suspect her of starting the rumour that I was engaged,” Ellen finished.

  He might as well be honest. “The thought crossed my mind too, but does it really matter?”

  “I’m bringing it up not because I’m still grinding on your possible relationship with her. I’m bringing it up because maybe she was also Fran’s accomplice.”

  That thought had also crossed his mind, but he’d discarded it as a possibility. “How did you draw that conclusion?”

  “She probably wanted me out of BRI.”

  He shook his head, not agreeing with the logic. “That’s a stretch. How in the world would she know that if we broke up you’d quit your job there? Besides, she had nothing to do with that, and you’d both left the company by the time I returned.”

  “Okay, but you continued to use BRI even while you were gone. Gabe, you hurt me enough I just wanted away.”

  His dismay must’ve been evident, because she hurriedly added, “It’s fine now. I’m stating how it was then. That’s what we need to hash out.”

  “All right. But that has nothing to do with Katrina,” he said, forcing down visions of Ellen quitting her job to escape contact with him.

  “If we hadn’t broken up at all, I guess I would’ve stayed,” she admitted. “Before you left, it never entered my mind to quit, so you’re probably right, and Katrina only wanted me out of your life not out of the company. Now I think about it, if she wanted me out of the company, sabotaging me professionally would’ve made more sense. She never even said anything to you until you returned. That means she didn’t want you looking me up to get back together.”

  “Agreed.”

  The waiter came and took their order. They both ordered a Caesar salad and decided to split a pizza. After arguing a bit, Gabriel caved and agreed to let her have pineapple on half. Who put pineapple on pizza? At least she didn’t complain about the meat he wanted on it.

  “I talked to Carl today at lunch,” Ellen said. “He made an interesting comment about Fran.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He said she wasn’t his type.” Ellen picked up her napkin and spread it on her lap. “What’s his type? Do you know?”

  Gabriel mimicked her moves with his napkin but kept his gaze on her movements. When she raised her head, they locked eyes.

  “Why would he care what type Fran was? She’s married.” His brain kicked in and reminded him he’d used the wrong tense. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Was married.”

  “I suppose that was his point. He didn’t think of her in that way because she was married, but then he said she wasn’t his type. Any idea what that is?” When he could only stare at her, she added, “I’m curious. About what a guy thinks is his type.”

  Gabriel contemplated the question. Should he reveal personal information about his friend? Was this any of her business? Perhaps. She was certainly in this with him, and if Carl had colluded with Francesca, Gabriel would be justified in talking about him. Besides, he wanted to be honest with Ellen, to confide in her. He could trust her because they were in this together. Finally, he spoke. “Carl always dated women older than him. Not always much older, sometimes just two, three, years. Five years, once.” He recalled a woman even older than that, but he’d said enough for now. He’d made his point.

  “Oh.” She slanted Gabriel a look, and with her brows raised and her mouth quirked, she said, “What’s your type?”

  Without missing a beat, he replied, “Look in the mirror.”

  She laughed, but with relief. “I guess you’re my type too.”

  He smiled but chased it with a frown. “Did Carl say anything else?”

  She nodded. “He mentioned something you should know.”

  “What’s that?”

  The server arrived then with their salads, forcing a break in the conversation. They waited for him to set down the salads, offer them pepper and parmesan cheese, which both of them accepted, and walk away. Gabriel picked up his wine and sipped.

  Ellen kept her gaze on him this time. “I don’t know if he told you this, but he spoke to Fran the day she died. He said she wanted to meet with him.”

  Shock had Gabriel setting down his wineglass and leaning forward. “No, he never mentioned that.” His good friend hadn’t told him this critical piece of information. Yet he’d been more than happy to pass on the fake news that Ellen was engaged. A chill ran through him. “Did he say why she wanted to meet?”

  “No. She didn’t tell him, and she never showed up to the meeting.” Her face pale, she met his gaze. “At least, that’s what he said.”

  He picked up his wine and gulped it, but the warmth it flowed through him didn’t ease his worry. Could Carl have had something to do with Francesca’s death? Was it possible he’d been her accomplice? The more they dug into this, the more complicated it got, but he still didn’t want to call Detective Morris with any of this stuff. No way would Gabriel drag his best friend into a murder investigation without proof he was involved in it.

  “I guess I’d better have a word with my friend,” Gabriel said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ellen enjoyed the meal despite her work worries and a nagging feeling she was missing crucial information. Once they set aside the shop talk, they both relaxed into the dinner and conversation. The rest of the evening passed quickly, and before she realized it, Gabriel was paying the bill and she was shrugging into her coat.

  When they reached the entrance to the restaurant, Ellen said, “I’ll call a rideshare from here.”

  “You could walk back to my place, have a coffee.”

  “It’s Monday. I don’t want to stay out too late.”

  He looked as if he wanted to press the issue, but since she’d earlier told him emphatically that she wouldn’t go home with him, he let it drop. The relief she felt over that surprised her. She’d expected to want to go back
to his place and struggle over saying no.

  As he waited with her in the restaurant’s foyer for her ride to show up, he put his arm around her. “We never talked about that kiss.”

  Stunned, she realized they hadn’t. It seemed so long ago since it’d happened. “What did you want to say?”

  “I’d like to do it again.”

  She leaned into him, tilting up her face to offer him her lips. He accepted the offer, pressing his mouth on hers gently. With the tip of his tongue, he explored and tasted. She released a small sigh and melted into him. They lost themselves in the moment until a horn blast from the street brought Ellen thudding back to reality.

  She pulled away. “My ride.” Her voice sounded thick and husky.

  “All right. But I won’t let you off so easy next time.”

  Smiling, she gave him a quick hug and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Bright and early.” She pushed through the door and headed for the car.

  Once she’d settled in the back seat, she looked out the rear window at him. He stood watching from the sidewalk. When he noticed her staring, he waved to her, and as the car pulled away from the curb, she waved back. While they hadn’t agreed out loud to start seeing one another again, Ellen was confident everything would be all right. Tonight, she was sure, she’d sleep well for the first time in three years.

  ***

  Gabriel had almost reached the front entrance of his apartment building when he spotted the young woman standing in the shadows of the covered walkway leading to the entrance doors. The thought that she waited for someone crossed his mind, but he didn’t realize she waited for him until she moved into the light when she spotted his approach.

  Katrina.

  He spoke first. “What are you doing here?” After the surprise and shock at seeing her came the relief that Ellen wasn’t with him.

  She took a step toward him, staggered, and braced herself on the stone pillar beside her.

  “Are you drunk?” Just what he needed right now. Well, he couldn’t leave her out here, drunk and cold. He’d take her upstairs, sober her up, and then put her in a cab and send her home. For a moment, he considered pouring her into a cab as is, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. One look into her eyes and he could tell she was well sauced. To send her off on her own in this state would be irresponsible.