Stonechild looked around at the others. “I think we need to give this some consideration. Maybe check out Adele’s life in Montreal. Gundersund and I found it peculiar that Adele’s sister in Gananoque said they had no knowledge that Violet wasn’t Adele’s child.”
“You’d probably have to go to Montreal. When would you make the trip?”
“Tomorrow. We know the bar where she worked before she moved to Kingston so we can start there.”
Gundersund wasn’t looking as enthusiastic as Stonechild. Rouleau made eye contact. “Your thoughts on this, Gundersund?”
“Bit of a stretch,” Woodhouse interrupted. “Biological parents take four years to come here to kill the kid and the woman who adopted her from them? Out of the blue?”
Gundersund rubbed his fingers across the scar on his cheek. “I guess it won’t hurt to check out Adele’s past so we can rule it out as a motive for her murder.”
Woodhouse snorted quietly into his coffee cup.
“Good smoked meat in Montreal,” Bennett said. He spoke to Gundersund, “I could go with Stonechild if you want to keep working here.”
“That’s all right.” Gundersund shot Bennett a searching look but kept his body turned away from Stonechild.
“We can take my truck,” she said. She also kept her eyes safely pointed away from her partner.
Rouleau was not unaware of the tension but chose to ignore it. “As Woodhouse and Bennett reported, yesterday a child’s pink rain boot was found floating farther down the river. Still no sign of Violet’s body. The search has been called off until the water levels subside or someone happens across her.”
“What about the search of their house?” Gundersund asked.
“Forensics is still going through it as well as Ivo’s vehicle and his office at the bank. I haven’t heard that they’ve turned up anything yet. That leaves the interview with Ivo, who is still sedated and under doctor’s care. When we’re able to interview him, I’ll take the lead. Anything else?”
Nobody spoke.
Rouleau continued, “Bennett and Woodhouse, keep digging into Ivo Delaney’s life and let me know what comes out of the search of his property. Gundersund and Stonechild, I’ll want you to check in tomorrow from Montreal. As always, keeping everyone informed is a priority.” He paused as he weighed the value of keeping the information that Marci Stokes had given him about Ivo’s medical condition from them. The unofficial source made him hesitate. His phone rang, making the decision for him. He signalled for everyone to leave before picking up, then leaned back in his chair and looked out the window at the falling rain.
“Dad, how’s the research going?”
His father sounded as if he was in the same room. The strength had returned to his voice which boomed across the miles. “I’m having a whale of a time in the Archives. I should have made the trip to Ottawa sooner.” His father launched into a detailed account of his days spent searching through old documents while Rouleau tried to picture him happily ensconced in a library reading room with documents and books piled around him. Rouleau turned back to his desk and opened a folder, listening to his father with one ear while he skimmed through a report. His dad was spending most of his time alone and was making up for hours of silence. After ten minutes, he appeared to run out of steam. Rouleau tuned back in.
“That sounds great, Dad.”
“It’s been good all right. Which brings me to the reason for my call.”
Rouleau knew what was coming. Frances. He headed his father off. “I can’t make it to Ottawa this week, Dad. We’ve not made much headway on the murders. I’ll come as soon as I can. No, I’m quite aware that the clock is ticking. I’ll call you tomorrow if I can. Yeah, I know.”
He hung up and got out of his chair to stand in front of the window. This was turning into the rainiest April on record. Rain and storms from one end of the month to the other. The heavy grey sky and early darkness matched his mood. It felt like the entire world was weeping for his ex-wife. Something he could not yet bring himself to do.
He worked at his desk until late afternoon. He had a report to complete before the end of the week and had promised Heath’s assistant Vera that he’d get it done on time. The bureaucratic part of his job was the part that he liked the least.
The rain had mercifully stopped when he finally stood and looked out the window, at least for the time being. The abrupt end to days of rain should have lifted his spirits, but it didn’t. He stretched and tried to ease the kinks from his shoulders. He’d finished the report and sent it by email to Vera but thought he’d drop by her desk to make sure she got it. He wouldn’t mind some human contact and Vera liked to chat about inconsequential things.
He was surprised to see Stonechild sitting at her computer in the outer office, her face lit from the glow of the screen. She was clicking on the keyboard. A notepad filled with writing and a pen were on the desk in front of her.
He walked over and stood behind her. “Still at it?”
She turned in her chair and smiled. “Just finishing up. I’ve been researching Adele Delaney’s past life in Montreal. It’s taken some digging and phone calls.”
“And?”
“She lived downtown and worked at the Chez Louis on Rue Sainte-Catherine. I tracked down the owner and he agreed to speak with us tomorrow. He also gave me the name of another waitress who was friends with Adele. She’s not working at the bar any longer. She wasn’t home when I called but I left my cell number.”
He pointed to Gundersund’s desk. “Did he make it back from court?”
“No, but he texted me that he hadn’t testified as of four o’clock.”
“Will you need Bennett to go with you tomorrow? Sounds like Gundersund will have to return to court.”
“I can make the trip alone.”
“I suppose that’s an option.” The research into Adele’s past was a long shot at best and likely not worth the time of two detectives. “I’ll make a phone call since you’ll be entering another police district, not to mention province. I’ll get word to you with a contact name before you leave. Have a good evening.”
“I will. Thank you, sir.”
Rouleau stopped at the door and turned. Stonechild was already hunched over the screen again, silently mouthing the words in front of her as she read. He wondered if she’d forgotten about Dawn, probably waiting alone at home for her to return. Stonechild’s personnel file had been sparse but he’d been around her long enough to know that she was a loner. She’d grown up in foster homes and he had no doubt of the impact. He watched her a moment more before deciding this was not his call. There were depths to Stonechild that he would never understand, but he had to trust that she would do the right thing by Dawn if given time. He had to hope that Stonechild would find her way to becoming a parent when she had no past experience being mothered. Right now, the loner part of her was winning. He knew how easy it could be to let work take the place of family and intimacy.
During their marriage, Frances had come to know it too.
Kala was glad to see that the rain had stopped when she stepped outside the station. The air felt damp and the clouds still hovered, but at least she wasn’t going to get wet walking to her truck. She climbed inside and drove slowly through downtown toward the waterfront before turning west out of the city. She’d sent Dawn a text to let her know that she was on her way. No response back, but no cause for worry. Dawn liked to walk Taiku when she got home and was probably not looking at her phone.
Gundersund’s car wasn’t in his driveway when she drove slowly past his property. She craned her neck to look at his house. It stood closed off and silent in the paling daylight. The trees and bushes were laden with buds that would open when the spring sun finally broke through long enough to heat up the earth. She figured a few more weeks and the trees would be in full leaf. She turned her a
ttention back to the road. Gundersund should have been home by now. Perhaps he was having dinner in town with Fiona.
A few minutes later, she turned into her driveway. Her heart lifted when she saw Gundersund’s Mustang parked off to the side. She was unhappy with herself for even caring that he was at her house and not out with his wife. She shouldn’t have cared at all what he did or with whom. But still, she felt a lift in her spirits to find him there.
She parked next to his car and walked around the house to the back deck. Nobody was sitting outside, which didn’t surprise her since a cool breeze was coming in off the lake. She climbed the steps and opened the back door. Gundersund looked up from the kitchen table where he sat reading the newspaper, his long legs stretched and crossed at the ankles. His eyes studied her warmly. Taiku and Minny galloped in from the living room to greet her. She bent to rub their heads, all the while looking at Gundersund. “Where’s Dawn?”
“Upstairs doing homework. She’s trying to get it finished before I take you both out for supper.”
“Supper?”
“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”
It was then she noticed his tan suit jacket over the back of the chair and grey dress pants. His curly blond hair was damp from a recent shower.
Kala slapped a hand against her forehead. “The art show.”
“The opening is tonight. Dawn told me that you’d agreed she could go and you would come as well.”
“That’s right. I did. Do I have time for a quick shower?”
Gundersund checked his watch. “I can phone and move our dinner reservation half an hour.”
“I won’t be long.”
She took the stairs two at a time, undoing her shirt as she went. She poked her head into Dawn’s room on the way by. “We’ll be going in about fifteen minutes.” She noticed Dawn was wearing a blue blouse and white slacks. “You look very nice.”
Dawn looked down and back up at Kala. “My best clothes. Mom got them for me at a second-hand store in Ottawa.”
“Well, she has good taste. You look lovely.”
Kala continued on to the shower, a guilty thought hovering on the edge of her conscience. She didn’t care about fashion herself, but perhaps she should have paid attention to Dawn and her wardrobe. Most teenagers cared about clothes as far as she knew. Dawn had never asked for anything, but she had never offered. Had she been negligent?
She showered quickly and searched through her closet until she found the green wrap dress she’d bought the year before. She’d seen the dress on a mannequin in a dress shop on Richmond Road in Ottawa and for some reason gone into the store and tried it on. The sales girl had talked her into buying it, saying the colour made her skin glow. It may or may not have been true, but Kala liked the way the dress made her feel. She’d never gotten around to buying shoes to go with it, but her knee-high leather boots would do. She left her hair loose to dry.
Gundersund and Dawn had their jackets on and were waiting in the kitchen when she finally ran down the stairs. Gundersund didn’t say anything when he saw her, but Kala thought she saw approval in his eyes.
“You look great,” Dawn said. “I’ve never seen you in a dress before.”
“It’s as rare as a moon landing,” Kala smiled. She grabbed her leather coat from the hook to cover her embarrassment. She hated knowing that people were looking at her. “Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”
Gundersund took them to the Lone Star restaurant on Ontario Street. The interior was Mexican-themed and casual, a long bar running the length of the main room. Dawn surveyed the crowded tables and busy bar with wide eyes. The hum of voices and clinking of dishes made for a party atmosphere. A pleasant hostess with bouncy hair led them to a table at the back of the main room and told them that their server would be right with them. Once seated, Gundersund told Kala and Dawn to order whatever their hearts desired. The evening was on him.
Dawn silently read the menu and glanced at Kala enough times that Kala felt her discomfort.
“Would you like me to choose for you?”
Dawn nodded. She leaned in toward Kala and whispered, “I’ve never eaten this kind of food before. We didn’t go to restaurants.”
Gundersund looked over their heads at the soccer game on one of the televisions above the bar. A muscle jumped in his cheek, the only indication that he was listening to their conversation.
Kala whispered back, “I’ve only had Mexican food a few times myself.”
Gundersund waited a few moments before he waved over the waitress. He smiled at Dawn and tapped the table with his menu. “Ladies, if you would allow me to order nachos to start and fajitas to share. We can go chicken, shrimp, or beef.”
Dawn said, “We like chicken, right Kala?”
“Chicken works for me.”
The waitress took the order and the menus and said their meal wouldn’t be long.
“I have a work proposition for you, Dawn,” Gundersund said. “Minny could use a walk after school before I get back from work. If you could stop by and take her to your place on your way home, I could pick her up later. I’d be willing to pay, say, sixty dollars a week.”
Dawn’s eyes opened wide. She looked at Kala. “Could I, Kala?”
“If you want to, I don’t see why not.”
“I love Minny … almost as much as Taiku.”
Gundersund laughed. “Minny’s pretty fond of you too. I have a spare key that I can give you now. Knowing Minny isn’t dancing around the house waiting for me to come home will be a big relief. For Minny especially, if you get my meaning.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key on a Snoopy key chain. He dangled it in front of Dawn.
Dawn laughed before reaching for it and Kala smiled at Gundersund. “Thank you,” she mouthed.
After the nachos were devoured, Gundersund demonstrated how to pile the chicken, sour cream, guacamole, onions, and peppers into a tortilla shell with a final topping of salsa. “The bigger mess you make eating one, the better.” He lifted an overflowing fajita to his mouth and bit into it. Sour cream dripped down his chin.
Dawn watched him for a second before biting into her own. “Where have you been all my life?” she asked the fajita before taking a second bite.
Kala laughed. “I’ll bet we could make these at home.”
“Maybe on the weekend?”
“Possibly.” Kala thought about the case and the uncertainty of her hours. “Let’s see how the week unfolds.” She immediately regretted her words. Dawn nodded but the brightness disappeared from her face.
Gundersund jumped into the silence. “I happen to have some Mexican blood flowing through my veins and would be happy to give cooking lessons when called upon. Enchiladas are my specialty.”
“Are they as good as fajitas?” Dawn asked.
“In danger of boasting, some call my enchiladas better. Perhaps we need a cook off. The two of you can attempt fajitas and I’ll supply my enchiladas. Dawn can be the official taste tester.”
Dawn looked at Kala and the excitement was back in her eyes. “Maybe, when your work is finished?”
“I promise,” Kala said. She felt the tension ease again from her stomach. “As soon as we have a free evening when we can spread out and make a mess in the kitchen. Although I have to say, Gundersund, that I cannot detect any Mexican in your lineage.”
“An honorary affiliation bestowed upon me after one weekend in Puerto Vallarta where I consumed copious amounts of tequila.”
They finished eating, and while the conversation didn’t flow exactly, Kala felt that Dawn was relaxed and enjoying herself. They decided to walk the three blocks to the art gallery once they stepped outside and found that it wasn’t raining. A breeze from the lake was welcome after the warmth of the bar and the air felt drier than it had for days. By the time they reached the s
econd block, the moon had peeked out from behind the thinning bank of clouds. Kala sensed a better day coming tomorrow, although she’d learned that Kingston weather could be fickle.
“Here we are,” Gundersund said, pointing to a narrow storefront sandwiched between two limestone buildings. A carved wooden sign above the door said MYSTIC GALLERY. “The first art show of the spring season.”
Inside, the rectangular room was brightly lit and warm. Forty or more well-dressed people crowded into the narrow space. They gathered around the wine bar or stood chatting in groups while they looked at the vibrant paintings covering the dove-grey walls — expansive vistas of woods, sea, and sky; detailed close ups of trees and plants. Dawn stood stock still next to Kala, taking in the people and scanning the artwork on the first wall. Kala looked down at this girl she considered her niece, not by blood, but by the fact that she and her mother had made a childhood pact to become cousins. She was getting better at reading Dawn’s emotions from the way she held herself and the expression in her eyes. Kala touched her arm.
“Would you like to go have a closer look? You can take as much time as you like.”
Dawn looked up at her with brilliant eyes and a quick smile. “Okay.” She immediately scooted over to a painting of a giant redwood, slipping into a group of people.
Gundersund came up behind Kala and handed her a glass of red liquid with raspberries floating on top. “Fruit punch,” he said. He sipped on a glass of beer and looked at Dawn over the rim. “She’s enjoying herself. I’ll introduce her to the artist once she’s had a chance to roam around. That’s Colin Hall right over there.”
Kala turned to look at a tall man dressed in a white suit and black shirt. He was as bald as Rouleau except that Colin had a goatee. He looked slightly younger than Rouleau, probably in his early forties. She turned back to Gundersund. “How do you know Colin?”
“He lived next door. He was like my older brother growing up.”
Gundersund frowned as he saw Fiona break away from the group surrounding Colin and start toward them. Her red silk dress hugged her curves like butter. “Oh no,” Gundersund said under his breath.
Tumbled Graves Page 9
