by Susan Calder
Mike handed her his cellphone and went to check on the progress of the crime scene investigation. Sam’s voice lifted Paula’s heart away from the annoying fact that she would always, to the police, be second class. Behind Sam’s voice, she heard murmurs of people talking.
“If I leave right away, I can be in Calgary by eleven,” he said.
“You hate driving at night.”
“I’ll load up on coffee.”
“Now that I’m safe, you might as well stay and enjoy the party.”
“I’ll call the airlines. It might be faster to fly.”
“They need you to take on the Edmonton project critics. There’s nothing you can do here, Sam. I have to go to the station to make a statement. After that, all I’ll want to do is crash.”
“Driving is faster,” he said. “Meet you at home?”
* * *
“Johnny’s recording was pure static,” Mike told Paula, when she emerged from the interview room. “He and his so-called buddy incorrectly hooked up a wire.”
Paula laughed. “Johnny’s more skilled at leaping than modern gadgets.”
“In any case, Garner didn’t admit to a lot, but Rosalie did, and her comments were witnessed by you and two police officers.”
“Has she or Garner said anything more?”
Mike pulled her away from his colleagues eavesdropping from their cubicles. “Mainly, they’ve been mum. On the drive to the station, Rosalie implied she knew nothing about the thefts or murder until ten days after the fire. Garner confided in her because he was afraid the holograph will and Caspar’s resolve to quit smoking might come out and lead us to investigate deeper. He and Rosalie agreed the will had likely gone up in smoke, but someone else was bound to know about the smoking. Rosalie convinced him to strike first by bringing the information to us. She’ll be an accomplice after the fact. I’m quite certain we’ll convict them both.”
“Without Johnny’s scheme, I doubt Rosalie would have blurted out her confession.”
Mike scowled. “Don’t tell Johnny. His head’s puffed up enough.”
“So is his damaged hand. Will he get off the abduction charge in exchange for his testimony against Garner?”
“Probably, with his luck.”
“Giving his uncle justice might do wonders for his self-esteem. It could make him less of a jerk.”
“I wouldn’t look for miracles in his case,” Mike said. “You must be glad to have your insurance claim resolved.”
“No arson committed by someone who benefits from the claim. The insurer will have to pay. My boss is disappointed.”
“Your next case might make him happier.”
She hoped there would be a next case somewhere in the midst of the bread-and-butter claims that kept Nils’ adjusting firm alive. On the phone today, Nils had conceded that specializing in dicey investigations might, perhaps, be the route to their future.
Mike walked her to the elevator. “While I was talking to Florence, she gave me an odd invitation.”
“What?”
“To watch the fireworks from her balcony tomorrow night.”
“Right. It’s the last night of Stampede.”
“Do you suppose it’s gratitude for our solving the case? She didn’t say thank-you directly.”
“Florence wouldn’t.”
“I don’t know why she invited me. I hardly dealt with her at all.”
“You pissed off Johnny in your initial interview,” Paula said. “Maybe his anger fuelled his resolve to pursue his vendetta and prove a nonrelative at fault. Are you going?”
“Hang out with Johnny Becker? That’s a joke.”
“Did Florence say what she decided to do about her inheritance?”
“It didn’t come up,” Mike said.
“Will she sell the property, keep it or give it to the kids? I wonder.”
* * *
“Caspar left it to me as a trust,” Florence said on her deck. “The property will stay in my name for a few years, at least. If I transfer it over now, I don’t trust any of you yet not to squander your share.”
“Smart thinking, Ma.” Johnny stretched his legs on his footrest.
Brendan, seated a couple of chairs down from him, didn’t say anything. Florence had announced her plan to revise her will, leaving him a third of the property. Johnny agreed this was fair. Florence said it didn’t matter what Cynthia thought.
In half an hour the fireworks would be under way. The sky over the city was growing darker, but Paula could still see the outlines of the highrise towers and Saddledome roof. She and Sam angled their chairs to face the others lined up in front of Florence’s picture window.
“I won’t mind taking a few years to figure out my business plan,” Brendan said. “So I’m not a millionaire when I’m thirty? Thirty-five will do.”
“Speaking of millions.” Johnny tipped his cowboy hat at Florence. “What was so special about that horse brooch?”
“Same as that ridiculous statue in the alcove,” Florence said. “Who understands the value of objects that have no practical use?”
“I’m glad Garner didn’t get the full money for the horse,” Johnny said.
Paula wasn’t happier knowing the shady jeweller had. Mike told her today Garner might get a reduced sentence for providing details about the man the police had been trying to catch for years. Paula balked at the notion of Garner getting off, even a little, although which of those two—Garner and the jeweller—was the baddest of the bad guys?
“There’s the first fireworks,” Paula’s mother said.
“They always throw out teaser ones early on,” Sam said.
Paula touched his hand. “How would you know? You always boycott the Stampede.” She had been surprised he’d agreed to join them tonight.
“I hate the chintzy cowboy part,” Sam said. “But as a kid I always watched the fireworks from Tom Campbell’s Hill.”
Paula and Florence shared a glance.
Paula’s mother leaned over to Sam. “Did your father take you to the hill?”
“Good question. I think so, the first times. I’d forgotten that.”
Her mother sat back in her chair, a satisfied look on her face. When Paula and Sam picked her up from her afternoon at David’s, she had shocked them with the news that she had sold her Montreal home and was moving to Calgary.
“Sold?’ Paula said. “Don’t tell me they accepted your counteroffer?”
“They raised their price by five hundred. I met them halfway, and they accepted within minutes.”
“Calgary?”
“Erin and I talked about this. After her tenants leave, I’ve committed to taking her master suite until Christmas. From there, I’ll see how it goes.”
“How much of this has to do with David?”
“A lot but not all,” her mother said. “It’s a chance to spend time with you and my western grandchildren, to get to know you better.”
“Are you sure you’ll enjoy living with those young people?” Paula asked. “They’re messy and stay up late at night and will expect you to do their cooking.”
“I won’t be their maid. I’ve laid down the law about that.”
Paula phoned Erin to get her take on her new room-mate.
“We all love having Gran around,” Erin said. “She’s fun.”
“Gran?”
“Mom, it’s different when you’re a generation apart. You’re stuck in the middle of Gran and me and too close to us both. You and I living together wouldn’t work. You’d be trying to look after me, instead of….”
Letting her daughters fly or fall. Paula had to let her mother go, too, much as she feared David would hurt her. On the whole, she was glad her mother was moving closer. Who knew how many good years she had left? Anything could happen, as Caspar Becker had learned.
More change was signalled today with the call from Sam’s contractor confirming he could start their renovation in two weeks. Paula had hesitated, caught Sam’s warm gaze, and said go for it. Tomorrow
she’d start packing up, if she found a spare moment between the move to the new office premises, meetings with several insurance claimants and Caspar’s graveside service, which Garner had organized but would not attend. Florence decided they might as well go ahead with it. Brendan and Johnny promised to be there. So had Cynthia, who was supposed to be coming with her children tonight.
“There’s another one.” Brendan got up and edged toward the balcony railing.
“Don’t get too close,” Florence said. “That railing’s the first thing I’ll fix. Another reason for keeping this place is that I want to enjoy this view next winter from the living room.”
“You deserve that.” Brendan’s compliment sounded genuine.
Paula still hadn’t quite shaken her prejudice against Brendan, but he was going to stay in her life as Leah’s room-mate or her business partner. Sam said he didn’t, for one minute, believe either a room-mate or partner relationship between those two would remain platonic.
“How do you know, when you’ve barely met Brendan?” Paula had asked.
“That’s the way the world goes.”
Balls of red and green, blue and gold burst above the Saddledome and trickled into glittering confetti. The booms that followed echoed like gunshot. Paula thought of Johnny’s silly toy gun, now in police custody as evidence, and her terror in the back of his van. Johnny had bound her and gagged her and been needlessly rough, yet she couldn’t hate him when she looked at his bandaged right hand. The doctors predicted a limited recovery.
Johnny had accepted the verdict philosophically. “If I can’t shoot straight enough for the melodramas, there’s other work.”
“Are you sleeping under the stars tonight?” Paula asked him now.
“Looks like the perfect night. You and Sam are welcome to join me.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“No more than usual.” He tipped his cowboy hat to her.
“There you all are.” Cynthia stepped onto the deck, her son and daughter behind her. “I had trouble dragging them here.”
Brendan went to the far end of the deck to get more chairs. The two sullen-looking teenagers slouched past Paula’s mother to the chairs Brendan slotted around Florence.
“They haven’t forgiven me for making them leave their schools and friends,” Cynthia explained to Paula, her mother and whoever else was listening.
Florence had told them Cynthia was taking up her suggestion to move into Caspar’s apartment to save money and get a grandmother’s help with the kids. Florence had promised Cynthia the most up-to-date décor.
Cynthia turned toward a trio of spider fireworks. “Aren’t they gorgeous, guys?”
Her son dropped to the chair on Florence’s left and folded his arms. The girl slunk to the one on the right.
“Have a cookie.” Florence picked up the gnome cookie jar. “Paula’s mother made them today.”
“Yuck.” The girl crossed her thin arms.
“When you move in downstairs, we’ll have to put some weight on you,” Florence said.
“Don’t threaten her, Ma.” Cynthia settled on the vacant seat beside her daughter.
“Do you like cereal?” Florence asked the girl.
“It’s the only thing she eats,” Cynthia said.
Florence smiled at Paula and patted her granddaughter’s hand. “We’re in business.”
A bell chimed from the front of the house.
“The doorbell’s working?” Paula said.
“I fixed it today despite my bum hand.” Johnny held up his bandaged limb.
Since no one was getting up, Paula went to answer.
Mike stood on the doorstep, dressed in Stampede wear: cream cowboy hat, fringed vest, check shirt, western tie, jeans, boots.
“You changed your mind about coming?” Paula said.
“Why turn down a free fireworks show?” Mike said. “You’re looking sharp tonight.”
Paula stroked the brown felt cowboy hat she had bought this afternoon. While she was at it, she’d splurged on a new bandana—royal blue silk this time—to replace the one she’d gagged on yesterday. It was now in police custody.
She raised her foot to show Mike her cowboy boot. “Isabelle found these at Brendan’s yard sale. They’re amazingly comfortable.” Sam had admitted her western look almost made him a convert to the Stampede. She led Mike down the hallway.
“Wow.” Mike halted at the living room entrance. “What a change since I saw it last.”
“I hadn’t realized you’d been here,” Paula said.
“You’re not the only one who finds excuses to snoop.”
They surveyed the living room, now clear of washers and dryers. Florence had arranged the love seats by the picture window. The rest of the room was empty aside from stacks of Caspar’s research papers.
“Florence plans to scour garage sales for a dining room set,” Paula said.
“I hope those sales don’t turn into a bad habit.”
“I doubt they will with her.” Paula pointed at the waist-high stacks of papers. “She also wants to read through these and write Caspar’s history of the Beckers against the history of the twentieth century.”
“That will keep her busy through the fall and winter.”
“Here’s the best part.” Paula led Mike toward the kitchen. She stopped by the door to the interior staircase. “Finally, Florence moved the sewing machine to the alcove. Now you can get past without turning sideways.” She twirled around.
Mike smiled. “My colleagues, by the way, thank you for providing ammunition to help them nail their slippery jeweller.”
“Interesting that Garner met up with him.”
“I imagine Garner tried various jewellers until he found the one willing to copy and sell stolen goods,” Mike said.
“When will you release the Beckers’ jewellery?”
“Depends how long we need it as evidence.”
“I’m glad Johnny gets the cuff links,” Paula said. “They’re the only pieces of any value Garner didn’t steal, probably due to the problems of pawning it with the insignia. Brendan and Cynthia agreed Johnny deserved them for capturing the man who murdered their uncle.”
“With a little help from you.”
“Florence offered me the brooch as thanks.”
“Hard to believe the original belonged to the Duchess of Windsor.”
“I turned the offer down. Brendan should have the brooch in memory of his grandmother and his childhood.”
“Under questioning, Garner stated Caspar told him his mother had stolen the original,” Mike said. “Is that true?”
“Does Garner believe it?”
“He thinks Caspar was spinning him a tale.”
Paula had sworn on her daughter’s life. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Is that right?”
She stared up at Mike, forcing her eyes not to dart sideways. It was superstition, but why risk Leah’s life by breaking her pledge to Florence?
“Okay,” he said. “You can have your secret.”
“The police keep secrets from me.”
“Touché. We’ll learn the truth from the jeweller who fenced it, when we finally get him.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Paula,” Sam called from the balcony. “They’re going blazes out here.”
She and Mike entered the deck bathed in warm summer air. Over the Stampede grounds, the spectacle exploded. Mike paused to say hello to her mother. Then he strode past Johnny to stand beside Brendan. Fireworks rocked the night sky. To Paula, they looked like giant balls of gems.
“Awesome.” Cynthia’s son unfolded his arms.
A burst of diamonds lit up the dark. Sapphires and rubies sparkled.
Cynthia’s daughter gazed upward, her mouth open in amazement. “This place isn’t horrible,” she said.
“It used to be.” Florence caressed her granddaughter’s arm. She glanced at Paula. “Not anymore.”
The End
A n
ative of Montreal, Susan Calder moved to Calgary twenty years ago with her husband and two sons. She is the author of Deadly Fall, a murder mystery novel set in Calgary. Her second novel, Ten Days in Summer, continues the adventures of insurance investigator sleuth Paula Savard. Susan is currently working on the third book in the series.
Susan has published short stories, poems and articles in magazines and anthologies. She teaches fiction writing courses and workshops at the Alexandra Writers Centre Society. Susan is a member of Crime Writers of Canada and the Writers Guild of Alberta and serves on the board of Calgary’s annual When Words Collide Festival for Readers and Writers. When she isn’t engaged in writing activities, she is likely to be travelling or hiking.
You can follow Susan: www.susancalder.com
http://bookswelove.net/authors/calder-susan/
Facebook: Susan Calder; Ten Days in Summer
Twitter: @Susan_Calder
