by Val Tobin
“Yeah. Where?”
“I’ll make it a coffee shop. Don’t want this to involve alcohol.”
“Does he have an alcohol problem?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Why does he want to meet with us? How do you even know him?”
“I met him a few times. BRI functions. He came to the company Christmas party with Fran. They invited clients and contractors too, so I went. We hit it off, and I went golfing with him a few times.”
Interesting. Gabriel hunted for a glass in Ellen’s cupboard, and when he found one, he got himself water from the cooler next to the fridge. “Is this the first time since Fran died that he’s called you?”
“First time he called me, but I called him to give him my condolences when I heard she’d passed away.”
“How’d that conversation go?”
“About how you’d expect. He was devastated. This came out of the blue, you know? He said she seemed happy even though she’d lost her job. Sure, she was worried about how long it’d take her to get another one, but he said she assured him she had enough contacts that she’d get work quickly.”
“She say who these contacts were?”
“I didn’t grill him about it, Gabe. He was hurting. I told him how sorry I was and said if he ever needed anything to call me. I guess he needs something.”
Yes, but what? And why from me? “Did he say why he wants to meet with us?”
“He thinks she didn’t kill herself and wanted to talk about it with me.”
Stunned, Gabriel said, “Did he ask to talk to me?”
“No. I suggested it. I don’t know what the hell she got messed up in if her husband thinks she was murdered, but I’d bet it relates to Katrina’s death. I figured you’d want to hear whatever he had to say.”
“You thought right. Listen, one more thing while I’ve got you.” He glanced toward Ellen’s room and shivered as he suddenly remembered he was nearly naked. An afghan lay spread across the back of the sofa, and Gabriel snatched it up and draped it around his shoulders.
“Yeah?”
“You told Ellen Fran wanted to meet with you.”
“She told you?” Carl didn’t sound angry, but he didn’t sound pleased either. More like irritated.
That he’d get annoyed with Ellen for discussing this with her boyfriend, a man who had a vested interest in having this information, had Gabriel frowning. When he replied, his tone was sharp. “I needed to know.”
“You did. But not from her.”
“She’s my—we’re working on this together, and I’m your best friend.” Something Gabriel questioned at times; though, in two decades of friendship, they’d never come this close to having their loyalties to each other tested.
“Yeah, and I would’ve told you.”
“We’ve talked since then, and you never mentioned it.” Gabriel dropped onto the couch, tucking his legs up under the afghan.
“I never got a chance. Look, I’m getting you a meetup with Zach. And before you ask, I have no idea why Fran wanted to meet. She never said. For all I know, it had nothing to do with what led to her death.”
“Did Zach know she wanted to meet with you?”
The phone fell silent as Carl contemplated. “I got the impression we’d be meeting behind his back but not to start an affair or anything.”
“She gave no hint about what she wanted to discuss?”
“She knew you and I are friends. Maybe she wanted to talk about you. She might’ve thought I could get you to hire her back. All I can do is guess. If she wanted me to do something like that, she never said.”
“Okay, thanks, Carl. I’d better go. Text me with the details when you set up the meeting.”
“Will do.”
They said their goodbyes and disconnected the call.
The soft rattle of the doorknob turning on Ellen’s bedroom door made him look in that direction. Ellen, wearing a robe, stood in the doorway, her face white, her expression terrified.
As soon as she saw him, her shoulders dropped and her face relaxed. She scrubbed her hands across her face and, with a visible sigh, walked over to where he sat.
“What’s going on?” Though her posture had shown her relief at finding him still in the house, her tone betrayed worry.
“That was Carl,” he replied.
“Walker?”
“Yeah. Sorry if I woke you.”
She gave him a rueful smile. “I woke up and found you gone. I guess I panicked.”
Not panicked. She was terrified I’d walked out on her again. He couldn’t blame her. Nothing had gone right for them after they’d slept together that fateful night.
He took his glass to the sink and strode over to stand before her. Taking her in his arms, he buried his face in her soft, fragrant hair. Neither spoke for a moment; both revelled in the other’s touch, the other’s presence.
Without lifting his face from her hair, he said, “It’ll never happen again, Ellen. Nothing will make me leave you.”
“Did he say something about me?” She sounded taken aback.
“No, not at all,” he said quickly. “He wanted to set up a meeting.”
She moved her head, forcing his chin up, and angled her face so their gazes met. “He wanted to set up a meeting at eleven o’clock at night?”
“Sit down and I’ll explain.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I want to go too,” Ellen said as soon as Gabriel finished telling her about his conversation with Carl. “You can’t go alone.”
“I won’t be alone. Carl will be with me.”
“What if Carl killed Fran? What if this is a trap?” For all she knew, Carl had started the rumour about her supposed engagement. They had only his word that a woman had told him about it.
Gabriel shook his head, scowling. “Not Carl. No way. I’ve known him for years. He’s not capable of murder.”
“Are you sure?” She whispered it, afraid to say it too loud and either make it true or make Gabriel angry.
“Positive.” He stroked her hair and pulled her closer to him on the couch where they sat.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. As soon as we’re done at the coffee shop, I’ll call you.”
She had no choice but to agree. “Okay. Let’s go back to bed.”
He gave her no argument over that, and they returned to her bed but not to sleep.
***
The next night after work, Ellen walked to Foundation to meet up with Rhonda. She’d called her friend during the day and asked to meet for drinks, and Rhonda had agreed. This would keep Ellen distracted until she heard from Gabriel that all was well.
Surprisingly, Rhonda wasn’t alone when she walked up to the booth where Ellen sat sipping a glass of red wine; Max and John accompanied her.
They all exchanged greetings and took seats on the benches, John snagging a place next to Ellen.
“Hope you don’t mind the guys joining us,” Rhonda said. “Max called me this afternoon, and I invited them along.”
Ellen smiled. “No, it’s fine.”
What else could she say? And it was fine. Max and Rhonda were officially together now, and John wasn’t bad company—as long as he understood nothing would happen between them. She’d just have to lead the conversation around to her new relationship somehow.
“How are things at work?” John asked Ellen after the server had taken their drink orders.
“Busy. I’ve got a lot to do that’ll keep me occupied for at least the next few weeks. How about you?”
He shrugged. “Always a full caseload. How are things with the BRI takeover?”
“Fine. Everything should get on track with Gabriel Duncan helping the company now.” She saw her opening and grabbed it. “It was nice to reconnect with him. We’ve started dating.” She glanced at John in her periphery. His expression remained neutral.
“I thought you should know,” she added.
“I appreciate you wanted to inform me, but we wer
en’t dating, as you so frequently remind me. I was just your beard for your mom’s party.”
She thought she detected a twinge of hurt in his voice, and guilt washed over her, but she shrugged it off. She’d been open with him about where they stood right from the start. “I’m glad you understand.”
Their drinks appeared, and she picked up her glass of red wine and saluted. “To good friends.”
The others raised their glasses. “To good friends.”
***
At a coffee shop in the Eaton Centre, Gabriel sipped on a latte and watched the entrance for any sign of Carl or Zach. From where he sat, he could see both Dundas Street and Yonge Street. The moment Carl and Zach appeared, he’d spot them.
He checked the time again. They were five minutes late. Could this be some kind of ploy to get him to sit here while they ... He could think of no way to end that statement. Besides, Carl was his best friend. He’d never do anything to hurt Gabriel. Ellen’s voice intruded on his thoughts, asking if Carl could be the killer.
Never. But Zach could.
Two men strolling along Yonge Street caught Gabriel’s eye then. Carl and Zach approached the coffee shop together, deep in some serious conversation, based on their facial expressions. When they entered the café, Carl spotted Gabriel first and waved to him. The two men approached the counter and placed their orders. Carl paid for both, and they approached the table, their expressions sober.
Gabriel matched their mood. The conversation they were about to have could cause Zach grief. Carl knew nothing of Ellen’s investigation into Francesca’s suspicious activities, and Gabriel wasn’t sure how much he should reveal to her husband. What if he’d been in on it? Somehow, the man didn’t come across as a wife-killer, especially if the wife was responsible for most of their income—and Gabriel assumed she’d been the one making the big bucks. Zach was a sales clerk at a shoe store. He probably topped up his base salary with commissions but not to the extent that allowed them to live the lifestyle they had. That had to be all Francesca and her ill-gotten gains.
After exchanging greetings, Gabriel sat back and sipped his coffee, letting Carl take the lead. He got right to it.
“Zach asked me to help him figure out what happened to Francesca. The police haven’t given him anything though they grilled him extensively the day after she died. We thought maybe you could shed some light on her final days at work,” Carl said.
“I looked at her attendance record, the billable hours she tracked. She showed up every day, except for the odd day off here and there, until BRI packaged her out. Nothing in her HR files or in her billing reports suggest she had any physical or mental health issues,” Gabriel replied. That was all accurate and something he could tell the dead woman’s husband without revealing anything about her shady activities. But he didn’t come to this meeting solely to reassure the grieving man. He too wanted information.
Keeping his gaze trained on Zach and studying the other man’s face for any nuance of expression, Gabriel asked, “How were things at home?” Might as well be direct, try to catch Francesca’s husband off guard.
“Fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Zach’s brows furrowed, and his mouth turned down, his expression veering more toward anguish than anything else.
“What do you think happened, then?”
“Christ, I think she was doing something behind my back.” Zach buried his face in his hands a moment, but when he looked up again, his eyes were dry. He leaned back in his seat, one arm stretched out and retaining contact with the handle on his coffee mug. His other hand rested in his lap. “I think whatever it was got her killed.” The worry in his expression was clear, but was it worry his own involvement would be revealed? This could all be an act to make Gabriel think whatever Francesca did at work had nothing to do with her husband.
Gabriel decided to play dumb. “You mean an affair?”
“No!” Zach’s rage at the suggestion appeared genuine, but so had his worry and grief. Either the guy’s performance was Oscar-worthy, or he actually had no idea what his wife had been up to.
“Then what?” Gabriel pressed.
“I think she was involved in something illegal.” He now had the harried look of a man plagued by doubt and strain.
“Without your knowledge?” Gabriel’s tone indicated he doubted the possibility.
“I thought she wanted to climb the corporate ladder. Succeed in her job and get to the top of her industry.”
When Zach stopped talking and didn’t seem to want to continue, Gabriel nudged him. “What do you think now?”
“I think I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“You came here to do that, though, didn’t you? Otherwise, why agree to meet me?”
“I need to get out from under this. You don’t understand. If she made money illegally, I’ve got it now.”
“Do you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. If she has a windfall somewhere, she hid it so I can’t even find it. But it has to be coming from somewhere.” He leaned forward, and his voice dropped conspiratorially. “Our bills continue to be paid, and I don’t know where the money’s coming from. Get it? Someone might know about this, and whoever killed her might come looking for it. Or the police might discover what she was up to and think I was in on it.” He glanced at Carl before returning his attention to Gabriel. “Carl told me you’re going over the accounts at BRI. Maybe you can find out if that’s where the money’s coming from.”
Gabriel stared daggers at Carl. They’d have to have a private chat later about what was okay to reveal to a dead woman’s husband. In the meantime, Zach awaited a response, and Gabriel didn’t know what to tell him or how. But he’d have to say something because whatever Francesca had been up to could now get all of them killed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
For Ellen, the night crawled by, becoming more interminable the longer she heard nothing from Gabriel. Twice, she contemplated texting him but didn’t. If he was still in the meeting, she didn’t want him to think she was checking up out of worry even though that’s exactly what she’d be doing. Her companions appeared oblivious to her distraction.
Rhonda and Max obviously had a deep rapport. They spent a lot of time gazing into each other’s eyes, finishing each other’s sentences, and sharing bites from each other’s plates. Ellen ordered her usual stress food of chicken wings and fries, while John ordered a burger and fries. Neither offered the other a taste of anything, and rather than finishing each other’s sentences, they carried on a halting and forced conversation about nothing.
John kept bringing the subject back to work, hers and his, and Ellen concluded this was the subject area in which he felt most comfortable. But that’s the area she strictly wanted to avoid, especially as it related to the murder investigations, hence the awkwardness. He’d been tracking the progress on the murders in the news and seemed certain Ellen had inside information. To a degree, she did, but she had no desire to tell him.
“I read in today’s paper the police are considering the two murders could be related. Have you heard anything about that?”
“The women knew each other, so it’s possible.”
“Yeah, the news report said that, but do you think there’s any proof the same person killed both women? I’d hate to think there’s a serial killer on the loose. I notice they’re not saying much about Gabriel Duncan anymore. I guess he’s in the clear?” John pressed. “The reports say he was questioned and released but don’t provide any details.”
“As far as I know, the police are still investigating. I guess they won’t clear anyone without confirming alibis and whatever other evidence they have. They don’t tell Gabe anything, which means he has nothing to tell me. I only know as much as anyone who reads the paper or listens to the news.”
His face fell in disappointment. “Well, I guess it’s normal to want to play armchair sleuth when it’s so close to home.”
Startled, she said, “Close to home? Did you know bo
th women?”
He shook his head. “Physically close to home. And you and Gabriel knew both these women. That makes one degree of separation from me, eh?”
A gruesome way to view it, but she supposed he was right. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” She laughed to show how absurd the notion was and changed the subject again. “Will you take any vacation time this winter? Are you one of those Canadians who likes to escape the cold every year?”
“Always,” he replied. “Can’t get enough sun and sand. I take every opportunity to get away. How about you?”
“Sure. I don’t get many opportunities, but it’s always nice to get away.”
They continued to chat until Ellen called it a night and left to call a rideshare to take her home at nine o’clock. She still hadn’t heard from Gabriel.
***
In the end, Gabriel told Zach the truth in exchange for a look at Francesca’s personal files she kept at home. He convinced Zach the only way they’d figure out what she’d been doing and where she’d hid her funds was to view all the accounts she owned, including whatever she shared with her husband.
“She wanted kids, you know,” Zach said, staring morosely into his now empty coffee cup. Next to it sat a crumb-covered plate. They’d all ordered sandwiches when they realized they’d talk through dinner.
Since neither Gabriel nor Carl replied, he pressed on. “Once she started working at BRI, she wouldn’t take time off, and she stopped talking about having kids. Now I know why. If she took a leave, someone would take over her work while she was gone. Maternity leave would’ve finished her for sure, but she didn’t even want to take a week off so we could go on a decent vacation.”
“Sorry, Zach,” Carl said. “I didn’t know.”
“What could you have done? She was stealing. Your choice would’ve been to report her or let her keep doing it.” He shook his head, his expression a mixture of disgust and remorse. “She almost bankrupted the company.”
