by Ritu Sethi
Yes, always at Teddy’s expense. And in more ways than one.
Matisse hesitated at the door. “Who just called? You sounded upset, maybe even scared.”
Should she tell him? No, not yet. “No one. Everything’s fine.”
He looked unconvinced as he left.
Farah resumed the strokes and count to a hundred before firmly putting her brush down.
She considered resuming something else, but Gray James’s delicious face wouldn’t come clearly to her mind; besides, Matisse had wrecked her mood.
That only left one thing to take care of before all else.
No way would she leave the offending thing in place.
Moving to the bathroom, she found her tweezers inside an ivory storage box, peeled open the gold satin robe, and spread her legs.
Violently, she yanked the offending gray hair out.
.
CHAPTER FOUR
“A STORM’S COMIN’ in a couple of days, Folks.”
The weatherman’s voice boomed over the car radio.
Gray pulled up in the only empty spot on Main Street and surveyed the ominous low-lying morning clouds skirting eastward. After three years in frigid yet sunny Montreal, he had to get used to ever-present clouds.
The summers in British Columbia were tourist heaven – but he felt more of a connection to the rugged winter when only locals roamed the mountains and shopped the village shops. It felt like home then, a community filled with characters who played their parts on a wilderness-ensconced stage. During the tourist season, the terrain transformed into something entirely different and superficial.
“Get ready to latch up your windows and sandbag around any beach access borders to your place,” the voice over the radio said.
Searock’s quaint Main Street glittered and glistened before him and resembled a picture postcard. Lights encircled the poles around the green; the butcher shop broad-casted Christmas music, punctuated by the butcher’s low-pitched warbling with each opening and closing of the shop door; a boutique selling ethically sourced cotton clothes and crystals was opening its doors.
To Gray’s left, the beautiful smell of coffee and croissants drifted outward from My Alibi, a bistro cafe. It was a piece of Montreal transported to the West Coast, obsessed with all things French, as was the owner.
He took a moment before tackling the unpleasant ordeal ahead. Not only was he about to meet with Inspector Slope, but the location meant seeing someone else.
Unbidden, his mind flew back a few months. To when he’d opened his front door, expecting a date, and finding his long-lost wife standing on the porch instead.
A wife who had left, and one who now held a squirming toddler in her arms he knew nothing about.
His daughter, Noel.
Gray would never forget the pounding in his chest, that dizzying moment when he saw them both.
Noel was a dead ringer for him, not Sita – she had his dark, straight hair, his strong nose and chin, and most of all, the same striking emerald eyes. He’d never seen them on anyone else, and that first glance at Noel’s happy, innocent face had told him everything.
Sita must have been pregnant when she’d left. Maybe she’d known; maybe not. But she’d stayed away for three years to protect her daughter from him.
She’d reached over and hugged him first. And he’d felt what? A pang of unwelcome guilt, as though he were shirking his responsibilities? She was still his wife. But the last three years had changed him, and most definitely changed her. The expression on her face, the way she held herself was all foreign.
All that yearning, those nights spent lying alone in their third-floor bedroom overlooking the river, working through the pain alone had come bubbling back. And in that moment, he’d known a numbness never before felt. Along with happiness, relief, and love. But it was different. Confusingly different.
He’d looked at Sita with new eyes he didn’t wish to possess – as though seeing a stranger instead of an extension of himself.
He unfolded his tall form out of the Lotus and stepped onto the main street. My Alibi was three doors to the left.
Inside, the mingled scents of pastry, meat, and coffee greeted Gray. Slope sat at a center table, looking like he owned the place. Only five other people occupied the room.
Gray would have preferred to have their informal talk in a more private setting, but Slope had insisted. It wasn’t hard to guess why.
The seated man waved him over with a careless gesture and a look which projected apparent indifference.
Slope, with his ski-slope nose. And heavy-lidded eyes which followed you around unblinking.
Who could resist punching that face? In flavors, he reminded Gray of bourbon (the hair) and vinegar (that distinctive sour expression) combined. Would Slope bring up the physical altercation they’d had upon Gray’s arrival?
Might be fun if he did, and maybe Gray could have the pleasure of his fist meeting the smaller man’s chin, again.
Not that this was a regular occurrence. Gray couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost control.
A bump betrayed what must be a blue and purple bruise on Slope’s chin – expertly covered up with makeup. Who had applied the makeup, Gray wondered?
The man had already ordered and held a perfectly square piece of coq monsieur on a fork, inches from his thin, strangely pink lips. Who cut a ham and cheese sandwich?
“What about your vacation, Chief Inspector?” he said bringing the fork to his mouth.
Gray sat on the retro, trendy-torn chair opposite. Large acrylics and oils, all for sale by local BC artists, covered the walls. Overhead, Blondie sang about how she would get you.
“This is your case, Reggie, not mine.”
“Now isn’t that sweet of you to say. Cheeky even, given what’s gone on between us. But you’re wasting time. Emerald Kaur’s off her rocker.”
Gray leaned back; the chair creaked. Hopefully, it wouldn’t break under him. “Why don’t you believe her?”
“A better question might be, why do you? With no body, no report of a missing person. And here, of all places, in our quaint little village. She’s a lonely weirdo who most of the women around here can’t stand and would kick out of town if they could. Now, me – I take things slowly, get to know my neighbors before casting judgment.”
“And?”
“It’s hard to trust any person who won’t look you in the eye. That body farm doesn’t bother me, Sir.” He stressed the title with a lift of one eyebrow. “Maybe it should.”
“Does it bother others?”
Slope’s chuckle made chewed food trickle out of his mouth and onto his lower lip. He licked it back with a snake-like tongue.
“You don’t know the half of it. She’s got fifty body donations at the farm with eighty more planned. Imagine that. Now, she wants to expand, but the town’s fightin’ it. Bodies bring smell, vultures circlin’ around our town. Not to mention the ghoulish reputation which doesn’t do tourism any good. And our local bigwig Teddy Atkinson is funding all this alleged research. It’s his land, not the university’s, and it ain’t hers either. I wouldn’t be surprised it things between Dr. Kaur and the town folk don’t explode – especially the women town folk.”
“Why them in particular? And what does that have to do with you believing her about the murder? Reggie, the body Emmy found was mutilated.”
“You mean he had his lips sewn up like a purse? Like in the old murder case my boss handled. He told me all about it.”
“Did he?” Gray said. “You must remember how complicated things became in this town.”
Slope’s brow relaxed. He sat back and crossed his arms over his poorly pressed shirt. A portion of the collar looked scorched. Noticing Gray’s gaze, the other man’s eyes narrowed over Gray’s immaculate maroon silk shirt.
“Yes, I served under Inspector Ray at the tail end of that case,” Slope said. “It’s exactly like this made-up account. Sutured lips but nothing left at the scene. We neve
r found the guy, but that’s neither here nor there.”
“Why?” Gray couldn’t believe it. Slope seemed to be breaking every investigative rule. Every protocol in keeping the public safe, and it made no sense.
But the sergeant was enjoying making him wait for a response; he knew something Gray didn’t. Something which excused ignoring a grotesque crime and letting evidence wash away with yesterday’s rain, not to mention risk the return of the town’s most infamous killer.
Slope’s half-smile and unblinking stare grated. Watching the man chew wasn’t much fun either
“Because of the first bogus report,” Slope finally said. “Of a girl with her mouth sewn shut.”
“First report? What first report?”
But they were interrupted.
A tanned hand, the sight of which made an elastic band snap in Gray’s chest, reached over and placed a bowl and a croissant before him.
He looked up; His wife’s chocolate brown eyes met his.
“I didn’t need to ask what you wanted,” Sita said.
That bond of familiarity – from knowing someone for years, living with them day in and day out, could sometimes break. In their case, it had, and it hadn’t.
Gray tried not to think about it and instead, lifted the French-inspired bowl of cafe au lait with two hands and drank, closing his eyes for a moment.
That first sip of coffee was always his favorite moment of the day. A ritual which civilized an uncivilized life.
And Sita had a gift for all things culinary, making her purchase of My Alibi a perfect career fit.
“That’s a friggin big coffee,” Slope said.
“Gray likes to think he’s French,” she replied, facing the sergeant. She and Slope shared the mutual smile longer than strictly necessary, and Gray’s fist began to clench. He might, again, punch Slope’s face, but not for reasons Sita would find flattering.
“How’s Noel?” Gray asked Sita.
“Perfect. I’ll bring her over to your Dad’s later.”
She moved to the next customer and took some of the room’s warmth with her. Slope’s youthful yet calculating eyes followed. With everything going on, Gray needed this complication about as much as a hole in the head.
He shoved his personal feelings aside and leaned across the table. “What first bogus report?”
The sergeant began cutting another perfect square of his sandwich with his knife and fork.
“Of a girl with her lips sutured,” he said. “About a month ago. A kid found the body in the family backyard, or so he said, but he’s been known to lie lots of times. I went there and – nothing. If you ask me, our crazy doctor heard about it and is making this latest event up.”
“Why?”
“Who knows why crazy women do what they do?”
Grays pulse drummed in his ears. He’s never liked this man, and this interaction slammed more nails into that coffin.
Why had Sita given Slope that long, almost affectionate look?
How might this affect his budding father-daughter relationship with Noel? A second chance at being “Daddy.” His heart slammed in his chest.
Coming home for Christmas to where the accident had happened had thrown Gray into a deep and dark hole. He was poised hanging from the edge with one hand – and not his good one.
He laughed at the man he was previously in Montreal – who had lost everything and achieved calm by not caring what happens.
There was always another step to climb up on the metaphorical ladder. Life made certain of that. But how could he learn to live with both realities: not caring what happens, and having someone to care about?
The croissant was buttery, flaky, and perfect, leaving the requisite number of crumbs on his lap.
“Did this child – the one who found the first body – recognize the victim?” Gray asked.
“Alleged body, Chief Inspector. Yeah, he said it was his babysitter. A young girl by the name of Joanie Skolowski. But I know the kid was lyin’.”
“How do you know?”
“The family got an email from Joanie, after she’d been allegedly killed. They forwarded it to me.
“Do you mind if I see it?” Gray asked, keeping his tone even. “As a professional courtesy. It’s your case, of course.”
The other man was being bloody courteous given Gray had punched him – yet that was Slope: calculating and inhuman in a way Gray could recognize but never understand. He felt a familiar pang of concern for his estranged wife.
For three years, she’d fallen off the face of the Earth. And he recalled, again, the sway of her hips as she walked away on that Montreal beach – not blaming him, but not able to look at him either.
Slope shrugged in response to Gray’s request.
“Now why should I? As you say, this isn’t your case.”
“You need to get SOCO to the site.”
The other man nearly choked. “Out here? They gotta come all the way from Gilbert. I can’t justify that with no corpse to cut up.”
“I have a top-notch forensic pathologist staying with me. He can at least go over the scene officially.” Gray didn’t add that Seymour had already done so – unofficially.
“Hey,” Slope said, chewing. “I get that you need to keep busy. I hear you’re havin’ trouble with the time off.”
Did the whole damn village know his personal business? Dad must be gossiping with the locals, but the village residents saw Gray as one of their own and not as the Chief Inspector with an impeccable record for solving murders.
He was just ‘Gray’ to them. To some: poor, unfortunate man; to others: that bastard who deserved what he got. He much preferred the latter.
Donning his poker face, Gray watched Sita chatting happily while taking another customer’s order two tables over. It was like watching a stranger he’d spent ten years with move about the room.
So far, Slope had been running this discussion; Gray had allowed it. The time had arrived to apply a subtle change of course.
“Now that you have a second report of a mutilated victim, shouldn’t you investigate this further? On the off chance, this isn’t a hoax. I don’t know how you’ll justify another death to your superiors.”
Slope put down his cutlery. “Especially after some big shot chief inspector from Vancouver offered to help?” He pursed his thin lips. “I guess I’d better cooperate with my senior, then.” He paused. “And make sure I dot all my t’s and cross all my i’s.”
“Like you always do.”
Slope glared back. If he wanted a fight – personal or professional – he’d get one.
The shrill ring from Slope’s cell phone broke the silent showdown.
“What?” the sergeant said into his cell. “Where is it?” he listened to the caller on the other end. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tell them to keep their shirts on.” Looking up at Gray, he added, “I’m bringing someone with me.”
Slope hung up and stared unblinkingly. “Gotta check something out. I guess you’re my shadow until we go back to the farm.”
“We should pay for our food,” Gray said, standing and straightening his abused back. He wished Sita would switch to comfortable, non-hipster chairs which were less than fifty years old.
“I don’t pay for my food here,” Slope replied, wearing a smile so smug, Gray’s working fist clenched again.
Outside, cold rain slashed diagonally through the streets and center green, and a gust nearly toppled Gray over. All around, hardened Canadian residents pulled up their waterproof jackets and went about their way as though it were a balmy day.
He reached his car, parked behind Slope’s SUV. “Where are we going?”
Slope yelled through the wind. “Blow Hole Cove. Which goes up and down a mountain range; pretty bumpy and rocky. We’ll take my wheels.”
The inside of Slope’s truck smelled of leather, cigarettes, and dampness. The sergeant looked over before turning on the engine. His hair framed a long face and small ears made all the more
noticeable by the apostrophe-shaped sideburns. Elvis would have approved.
During the bumpy ride, Gray kept his eyes on the distant snow-topped mountains which stood majestically, rimmed with a thin mist. Wipers sliced back and forth across the windshield, screeching like a bird.
“That storm’s coming sooner than they think,” Gray said.
“Naw. It’s like this every winter by the coast. It’ll blow over in minutes. You’ve been gone a long time; you forgot.”
Slope’s feminine hands gripped the steering, betraying a tension otherwise concealed. Light reflected off his hand. The square gold base on his ring finger had a center diamond. How masculine.
Which made Gray recall vital evidence Dr. Emmy Kaur had delivered upon their return to her cabin last night – after Gray had unsuccessfully chased the killer.
Evidence that perhaps even the Stitcher didn’t know about.
Should Slope be on Gray’s list of possible suspects? That seemed impossible…and yet…
Blow Hole Cove came into view as they descended a winding road. The rain had eased, but the wind still packed a punch, swaying the truck back and forth.
Gray could imagine his Lotus skidding off the wet road, flinging through the air, and flying off into the bubbling sea.
There were multiple coves in the area, but this one was the hardest to reach.
Ahead, a thirty-foot yacht became visible and swayed on the white-peaked waves close to the beach and adjacent rocks. Far too close.
Slope pulled up to the cove and parked at one side of the gravel parking lot. “These guys say they’ve got engine trouble. Otherwise, all boats gotta be docked in the marina on Eagle’s Nest.”
“That’s quite a way; can they make it in those waters?”
“They’d better.”
Gray stepped out of the truck onto surf-worn pebbles of maroon, pewter, and black.
Two men and a woman, floating figures in the mist, awaited them on the side deck.
Gray’s blood went cold.
One of the men stepped off the boat and met Slope, gestating with his burly hand, scrunching his sea-weathered face. The other leaned against the rail on the deck
