Cold Mourning

by Brenda Chapman

  First she’d get some breakfast before shopping for food to bring to Rose’s apartment on York Street. She hoped to take Dawn later for new boots if Rose would let her, but knew she had to go carefully. Rose wouldn’t like being treated as a charity case. Rose. She was still Lily in Kala’s mind, but she could appreciate Lily’s need to carve out a new identity with a new name. Hell, she’d done much the same herself.

  The restaurant was full and she had to wait ten minutes for a table. She followed the hostess to the back of the noisy room and sat at a table for two, facing the front windows. The waitress came right over with coffee and Kala ordered her usual breakfast fare — eggs over easy, homefries, sausage, and brown toast. Kala settled back in the chair and lifted the white mug to her lips. Her eyes scanned the room and doubled back. She squinted over her coffee cup, then her heart jumped like she’d had a hit of adrenaline.

  Hunter Underwood was sitting directly across from her at a table with a blond-haired woman dressed in a tight red sweater and silver chains around her neck. They were leaning into each other, deep in conversation. Hunter’s eyes were fixed on the woman and he was listening intently to whatever it was she was waxing on about. He’d tied back his hair and wore a pressed blue shirt, so she must be important to him.

  Kala squirmed inside, remembering how attracted she’d been to Hunter the few times they met. It would never have gone anywhere, but she was sorry how they’d left things. It was unsettling to think he was still angry with her.

  The murders seemed far removed from her now. It was two months since Vermette had effectively taken her team off the investigation except for research support. She’d continued to think about the case, but she’d let it go after Rouleau had made it clear that she was not to pursue matters on her own. He’d kept her busy taking courses so that she couldn’t have even if she’d wanted to.

  She continued to watch Hunter, but he didn’t look her way and she told herself it was just as well. When her breakfast arrived she lowered her head and began eating. She’d been too excited to eat much the night before and was famished. The food was greasy cholesterol ambrosia.

  The waitress came by a second time with the coffee pot and the bill as Kala was finishing up the last of the toast. She mumbled thanks with her mouth full and nodded for a refill. The girl poured and set down more creamers then moved back and let out a yelp as she stepped into the person standing behind her.

  Hunter steadied her arm and apologized. He waited until she was well clear before dropping into the empty chair across from Kala. He set his gloves on the table but left on his coat, his smile warming her, his grey eyes lingering on her face.

  Her initial surprise over, Kala continued chewing her toast. She didn’t return his smile.

  “Haven’t seen you around for a while,” he said.

  She swallowed. “No, busy with other cases.”

  “And here I thought we were the biggest case in town.”

  “It got turned over to Major Crimes after the holiday. We’re still assisting behind the scenes.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  She couldn’t tell how he meant her to take that so she said nothing, just stirred cream into her coffee and waited. The silence stretched awkwardly.

  “I wasn’t sure it was you at first,” he said. “I was sitting at that table with a woman who owns an art gallery on Elgin just up the way. She wants me to put on a show this spring, but I’m not sure it gives me enough time to get the pieces together. Did you see us?”

  “Yes.”

  “You should have said hello. There’re been a few changes in my family that might interest you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Geraldine gave Max the boot.”

  “Because of Benny?”

  “That was one reason, but she also found he’d been taking money out of their joint account, and he had no explanation as to where he spent it or why. It was Pauline who suggested my sister look at her accounts after we found out about Benny and Max’s relationship.”

  “How much money?”

  “Geraldine thinks close to two hundred thousand. She had a small inheritance when our grandmother died and kept it in a separate joint account. She admits now that she was naive to trust him with paying the bills.”

  “She should file a complaint, although if he had signing authority it could be hard to prove.”

  “The thing that worries her the most is that he’ll be entitled to half of her inheritance from our father even if they divorce.”

  “She needs a good lawyer. They weren’t married that long and there are extenuating circumstances. You said there were a few changes in your family that would interest me. So far, you’ve only named one.”

  “Laurel and Charlotte are moving to Calgary where Laurel grew up. She’s put the house up for sale and hopes to be gone by summer.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “Her presence in Ottawa is hard on my mom and Geraldine. It keeps things complicated.” He fixed his eyes on hers. “There really was nothing going on between us,” he said.

  “Then why did you act like there was? I keep wondering about that night when you told Laurel about your father’s death. Your Jeep was parked conspicuously out of sight some distance away. Laurel also appeared quite familiar with the road to your place.”

  “I didn’t park in her driveway in case my mother happened by and saw the Jeep. Silly as it sounds, my mother hated Laurel and wanted me as far away from her as possible. I figured my family had enough grief without them worrying if I was taking up with Laurel.”

  “Why would your mother happen by, as you put it?”

  “She didn’t live far away. She often walked those roads and down by the Rideau River.”

  Kala lifted her cup and finished the last of the now tepid coffee. It was a sign she’d stayed too long. She set the cup on the table and said, “Well, I have things to do, but it was good running into you. I hope everything works out for you and your family.” She reached around to grab her jacket from the back of her chair.

  Hunter stood and looked down at her. His eyes didn’t give much away, but she could tell he’d wanted more from her. “Thanks, I’m hoping so too. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  She waited until he’d disappeared out the front door before fishing the money out of her jacket pocket. She didn’t know whether she believed Hunter or not, but he’d put up a convincing front. Happily, the investigation wasn’t hers to worry about any longer.

  She left a ten on the table with the bill and made her way to the washroom, pulling out her cellphone as she went. She’d share what she learned with Grayson anyhow, and hopefully he’d follow up on the missing money in Geraldine’s account and Laurel’s plans to leave Ottawa. She wasn’t convinced that he would, but her conscience would be clear. As for Hunter, it would never have worked out between them. She was smart to have just let the whole thing go.

  Kala made two trips up the stairs to Rose’s apartment. The first was to bring a couple of bags of groceries and the next was for the cake and bagels she’d picked up from the bakery. Rose and Dawn were alone. Annie had gone out early in the morning to panhandle near the Rideau Centre.

  Dawn took the groceries from Kala into the kitchen while she made the second trip. On her return, Kala set the cake on the coffee table and smiled at Rose who was sewing a button on one of Dawn’s shirts. She could see Dawn through the doorway putting them away.

  “How’re you feeling today?”

  “Much better. I was only up twice in the night coughing and my strength’s almost back to normal.” Rose called to Dawn, “Make two instant coffees and bring them in with a glass of milk for yourself. We’ll also need plates, forks, and a knife to cut the cake.” She motioned for Kala to sit and pointed at the cake. “You didn’t need to do this.”

  “I know, but I wanted to celebrate your birthday, even if it’s a bit late.”

  “Yeah, but we could do that without all this food.”

  Kala
took off her coat and sat down. She looked Rose over carefully. “You do seem better today. Are they holding your waitressing job for you?”

  Rose shook her head. “Nah, but I’ll find another.”

  Dawn entered with two coffees and Kala jumped up to help. Dawn’s black eyes widened when she saw the cake box on the table.

  “Cake, Mom! We haven’t had cake in forever.”

  “I hope you like chocolate fudge,” said Kala, smiling. The sight of the girl in ripped jeans and a moth-eaten sweater tugged at her heart. She looked back at Rose who was staring at her with an odd expression on her face. A childhood memory flashed through Kala’s mind. Lily looking down at her hiding in the tall grass, getting ready to lay a trail for the man who was chasing them. Lily’s black eyes hardening at Kala’s pleas not to leave her. Kala shivered and looked back at Dawn as she sat and served up a large slices of cake. She tried to shake off the feeling of foreboding.

  They took their time eating the cake, listening to Dawn talk nonstop about school and how much she liked her teacher Mrs. Johnson and all the art projects they did in class. They were going on a field trip to the art gallery on Monday and she couldn’t wait. Rose let her talk without interrupting, glancing at Kala every now and then with pride in her eyes and something else Kala couldn’t read.

  It wasn’t long before Kala could see that Rose was getting tired. She’d eaten all of the cake though, so that was a good sign. When Dawn took a drink of milk and was momentarily quiet, Kala said, “Why don’t I take Dawn for a walk and you can have a nap? We’ll come back by four o’clock and make supper.”

  “That’d be good. I think I need to sleep for a bit because I did the laundry this morning. Annie should be back by then too.”

  Dawn and Kala scooped up the dirty dishes and remainder of the cake and brought everything into the kitchen. Kala hadn’t been in this room before and took her time looking around. The floor was yellowing linoleum, curling at the edges, and the cupboards were fifties-style plywood painted apple green. The stained counter and ancient appliances were spotlessly clean. A small table and wooden chairs filled the spare space. Her eyes travelled to the art gallery on the wall and she stepped closer.

  “Dawn, are these your paintings?”

  “Yes, all except for this one. My last teacher at the community centre gave it to me for Christmas.” Dawn danced in front of her and pointed to a framed watercolour of daisies in a vase. “She said I was her best student ever. See how pretty? I want to paint like that some day.”

  Kala looked from the painting to Dawn and then back at the painting. Her heart quickened. She leaned closer and squinted. “What was the name of your teacher?”

  “Pauline. She was nice. See, her name is on the bottom corner.”

  It was exactly as Kala had thought. Pauline Underwood. “You said that she quit before Christmas? Can you remember when exactly?”

  “Two weeks before. She said that she was going away to get married. She had to get things ready because it was a big surprise.”

  “Pauline, your teacher, said that?”

  “Uh huh. We used to talk because I stayed late to work on my art projects. She knew my dad was away and said that her husband left her and her kids too for a while, so she knew how hard it was. She was happy we were both going to have them back soon.”

  Kala stood still. Something cold and dark travelled up her spine. The curtain had blown back for the briefest of instants, but it was enough. She never doubted the silent, mysterious workings of the universe. Signs were fleeting and intangible. You had to be open to them when they appeared.

  She knew that murder could happen when people were pushed too far — when a loved one betrayed a person beyond what they could endure. Betrayal could throw someone who was off-balanced to begin with into a tailspin. She ran the facts of Tom Underwood’s and Benny Goldstone’s deaths and Susan’s near-death in the Gatineau Hills through her mind, and all that she remembered about Pauline Underwood. Comments that family members had made about her inability to cope with Tom’s desertion slotted into place like puzzle pieces. The clues had been there all along, but Pauline had kept herself a quiet presence in the background, hiding her rage behind a facade of normalcy. Pauline had fooled them all and might have still, but for the secret she’d confided in this innocent girl whom she’d had no reason to believe would ever tell anyone of importance. Pauline had shared her fantasy world with Dawn before she learned of Tom’s final betrayal with her best friend.

  Kala knew she would have to go carefully and methodically if she was to trip Pauline up. A theory wasn’t enough. She was going to have to find hard proof that Pauline was a cold-blooded killer.

  She looked at Dawn standing so quietly beside her. They’d go shopping for new boots and then she’d return to the station to start sifting through the evidence one more time. The night ahead would be a long one, but it felt good to be back on the trail.

  36

  Sunday, February 26, 7:10 a.m.

  Susan waited by the back door, getting overheated in her down winter coat. She could hear Clinton upstairs walking from the bathroom to their bedroom and back again. He must be almost done packing his toiletries and the last of his clothes. A few more minutes and he’d be on his way downstairs.

  She waited until she heard him leave the bedroom to cross to the landing at the head of the stairs before opening the front door. She stepped outside into the dark, cold morning, which was all the more painful after two weeks of above seasonal temperatures. Her nightgown under the knee-length coat clung to her legs as she darted down the steps and the icy walk to Clinton’s Toyota. Her breath was a cloud of frosty mist in front of her. She fumbled with the electronic opener and hoisted herself into the front seat, leaving one leg to dangle outside the open door. The engine took some coaxing but turned over on the third try. Clinton had forgotten to plug in the block heater the night before, and it was the coldest morning they’d had in quite a while. She adjusted the dial to turn the heater on full before stepping down to scoot back inside the house.

  A white paper fluttering under the windshield wiper on the driver’s side of the frosted window of her van caught her attention. She smiled and carefully removed the paper, tucking it into her pocket.

  At last.

  Clinton met her just inside the door, putting on his green coat. He’d already laced up his black army boots.

  “Cold out there?”

  “Very,” she shivered and decided to keep her coat on a while longer.

  “A few minutes earlier next time, aye? It won’t have warmed up before I hit the 417.”

  “Sorry.” She forced herself to frown as if she really was.

  “That’s okay. I’ll call tonight at the usual time.”

  “I’ll be waiting. Drive safe,” she said as an afterthought.

  He grabbed the sleeve of her coat and pulled her to him. Panic fluttered in her chest for the briefest of moments before she felt his hot lips on hers. He forced his tongue into her mouth. She forced herself to relax and fought down the urge to gag.

  He smiled as he pulled back from her. “Stay out of trouble.” He patted her rear end hard enough to leave a mark, if she hadn’t been wearing a layer of down.

  “Always,” she responded.

  She locked the door after he left and watched through the curtain in the living room until she was certain he’d gone. She drifted into the kitchen. As usual, Clinton’s dishes were rinsed and neatly stacked in the sink. She’d made him bacon and eggs but hadn’t eaten any herself. It was odd this feeling of never being hungry.

  She took a coffee mug from the cupboard over the sink and poured herself a cup from the coffeemaker. The first few swallows washed away the taste of him in her mouth. She pushed the hair out of her eyes, catching sight of her reflection in the window. When had she become this old woman with tangled hair and haunted eyes?

  She crossed the floor and sat down heavily at the kitchen table. She stared into her coffee cup and tried
to find the energy to drink. A flush of heat travelled up her neck and cheeks and she remembered that she still wore her down coat. She wiggled one arm out of a sleeve and paper crinkled in the pocket. The note! She reached inside and pulled it out, smoothing it on the table as she shrugged out of the other sleeve. A smile tugged at her lips. Pauline.

  She was always leaving notes for people in unexpected places. An obsessive walker, she’d drop messages in the mailbox or under windshield wipers if it was too early or too late to visit. This one was short and unsigned. The letters were jerky as if Pauline’d leaned the paper against a tree while she scrawled the message. The usual place? Nine a.m.

  Susan sighed deeply. Maybe her friend was back from the deep well inside herself where she’d retreated to grieve. They’d hardly spoken since Tom died, but now Pauline seemed willing to revive their daily walks down by the Rideau River. Not for the first time, she was glad that Pauline had never found out about her and Tom. It would have strained their friendship, perhaps irreparably, and Susan would be bereft without this link to Tom and her past to hang onto, especially now.

  As their relationship had blossomed, Tom had confided how bad he felt about Pauline and their divorce and what it had done to Geraldine and Hunter. The weight of it had become a burden of guilt exacerbated by his failed second marriage and what he knew lay ahead for Charlotte. He’d gone to visit Hunter at her urging and had spent time with Pauline after she told him that making restitution would help to heal Pauline’s wounds — and his own. He’d been mending fences and had been finding a measure of peace before his death. This knowledge gave her solace now.