Cut to the Bone. Joan Boswell

Crystal volunteered.

      “What about Sabrina Trepanier? Did you or your aunt know her?”

      “She’s the pretty one with the long dark hair. She always looks great and she always says hello. One day she had a box of Tim Hortons Timbits and gave them to me. She said if she kept them she’d eat them all and that wouldn’t be good.”

      Jay chimed in. “She likes dogs. Barlow jumped up once and he had muddy paws and made marks on her coat and she laughed and said dogs did that. If it had been me I might have been mad but she wasn’t.”

      Crystal nodded. “I don’t think my aunt ever talked to her. She doesn’t have much to do with the people in the building.”

      When they turned onto Delisle, they saw TV trucks and a cluster of people in front of their building.

      “Are they there because of the murder?” Jay asked.

      “They are. The police will be here for at least twenty-four hours, and they’ve strung yellow tape to keep onlookers away. They will interview everyone in the building.”

      “My aunt won’t like that,” Crystal said.

      “Most people won’t. But if you and your aunt and everybody else tell the police every little thing you can remember about Sabrina and Ginny and anyone or anything different that you saw, it could help them. They need as much information as they can get if they’re going to track down her killer.”

      “Ginny’s related to Poundmaker, he was a famous chief,” Crystal said. Her brow furrowed. “Is she in danger? Are we?”

      “I don’t think so but we’ll be extra careful.”

      Crystal peered at her shoes and mumbled, “Maybe whoever did it meant to kill Ginny. People don’t like us. They wish we’d disappear.”

      Jay bent like a pretzel until she stared up at Crystal’s face. “I don’t feel like that. Hollis doesn’t either.”

      Crystal lifted her head. “Some people do and have for a long, long time.”

      “That’s really sad,” Jay said and seemed at a loss about what she could say to make Crystal feel better.

      Barlow and MacTee tugged on their leashes.

      “We’d better go in. Because I manage the building, the police will have more questions for me.”

      As they moved along, Hollis tried to remember her Canadian history. Poundmaker had been involved in the second Riel Rebellion in Saskatchewan. He must have been a Cree. Poor Crystal, feeling that everyone disliked her because she was an Indian. How awful and how hard to imagine if you didn’t belong to a minority.

      On Tuesdays, Crystal’s aunt, Mary Montour, worked a split shift as a waitress, breakfast and dinner with a break for lunch. Not wanting the child spending time in an empty apartment, Hollis had taken to inviting Crystal to have supper and go with them to Barlow’s obedience class. Tonight of all nights she didn’t want the child alone.

      “Jay, you and Crystal do your homework while I talk to the police. I’ll make sure it’s okay for us to take Barlow to his class. It will be good to get away from the building,” Hollis said.

      At the apartment they found Ginny curled up asleep on the sofa, looking very young and vulnerable. Hollis realized that Ginny couldn’t return to her own apartment. It was a crime scene, as was Sabrina’s.

      Ginny stirred when dogs and kids crowded into the apartment. Hollis waited until she saw that Ginny was truly awake.

      “Ginny, do you have anywhere to stay?”

      “Oh my God. I won’t be able to go back to my place.” Ginny shuddered. “I don’t know if I ever will, but maybe Fatima will rent me Sabrina’s place.”

      “Not until the police finish,” Hollis said.

      Barlow, tired of being ignored, jumped on the sofa and settled down next to Ginny, who stroked him absentmindedly.

      “I guess I don’t have anywhere to go,” Ginny said.

      “Why can’t Ginny stay with us? I have a trundle bed,” Jay said.

      “So you do. If Ginny wants to do that, she can.”

      Ginny’s eyes widened. Clearly the invitation surprised her. “Thanks. That’s nice of you, but now that I think about it, I know that Fatima will take me in,” she said.

      A buzz at the door. Hollis answered and found Rhona outside.

      “I’d like to talk to Ms. Wuttenee again. May I use your office for the interview?” she asked in a tone that indicated she was merely being polite.

      Hollis nodded. “Of course. Tonight is my puppy’s obedience class. Is it okay if we go?”

      Rhona considered. “Leave me your cell phone number. We have your records, the security tapes, and are interviewing the tenants. If I need any more information it’ll wait until you get back.”

      Rhona led Ginny into Hollis’s office.

      “I can’t get Sabrina out of my mind,” Ginny wailed as she settled on one of Hollis’s office chairs. “Who would have killed her? She was only twenty-two. Why? Why would anyone do that? What about me? Will I be next?” Her voice rose after every question until it was a shrill scream. Abruptly she buried her face in her hands.

      “Ms. Wuttenee, if we’re going to catch Sabrina’s killer, we need your help.”

      Ginny lowered her hands but her downcast eyes, drooping head, and projecting lower lip combined to create a picture of despair. She remained quiet.

      “I want you to think back to every conversation you ever had with Sabrina and tell me what you talked about.”

      “That won’t help you. We talked about Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie and everyone else in Hollywood. We both liked In Style magazine and fashion. Sabrina told me where the best places to shop were. And …” She stopped.

      “Work? Clients? Drugs?” Rhona said.

      Ginny stared at the floor.

      “I’m not trying to trap you. I’m looking for links to the person who killed Ms. Trepanier. Could it have had anything to do with your —” Rhona hesitated “— landlady? Did you share information about a really bad client? Do you have a source for drugs and could Ms. Trepanier have been in trouble with that person?” She leaned forward and tapped the desk. “That is the kind of information that will help us.”

      Ginny continued to stare at the floor?

      “Do you want us to find Ms. Trepanier’s killer?” Rhona asked.

      Ginny’s head snapped up. Rhona read fear and doubt in her eyes. “Of course, but I’m afraid.”

      “Of the killer or of me?” Rhona asked.

      “Both,” Ginny admitted.

      Rhona leaned back and steepled her fingers as she considered the young woman’s reply.

      “I do want to help,” Ginny said.

      “Okay. I’m not recording this conversation. It’s strictly off the record. Why don’t I ask questions and you answer? If you volunteer more information, that will be great.”

      Ginny fidgeted and glanced at the door as if she’d like to escape. “Okay.”

      “Did Sabrina have any trouble with Ms. Nesrallah?”

      “No.”

      “Did she have clients who treated her badly or frightened her?”

      Silence.

      Rhona repeated the question.

      “Yes, we both had one guy who scared us.”

      “Did he tell you his name?”