Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Brenda Chapman

Jacques.” Her voice was a whisper. “I screwed up our lives. I’m trying very hard not to screw up my death.”

      He reached across the table and took her hand between both of his. Her skin was cool to the touch, her palm papery dry. “I’m as much to blame for what happened to us as you are. More so, in fact. I’m still here for you, Fran. Anytime, anywhere. You’ve got to know that.”

      She gently squeezed his hand before withdrawing hers. “Thank you, Jacques. It’s good to know that we’re still friends. That’s something anyway.” She folded her hands in her lap and lowered her head.

      He looked at the bony curve of her jaw and her eyes nearly black in the dim light of the bar. She’d lost a lot of weight. “I think you should marry Gordon.”

      She lifted her head and studied him, her eyes amused. “Really? You wouldn’t mind too much?”

      The familiar smile on her lips twisted his heart. He swallowed before speaking. “No. Do what feels right, what makes you happy.”

      “I don’t know quite what that would be anymore. A call from the hospital saying that they’d gotten it all wrong. It was a screw-up in the lab and my real test results were hiding in somebody’s else’s file.” She tilted her head and shrugged as if dismissing the possibility. “But maybe for Gordon, getting married would mean something.”

      “Then do it.” She wouldn’t marry again without his blessing he knew. He could see it in her eyes. “You shouldn’t have any regrets.”

      She reached for her glass. “I’m not sure what I’ll do yet, but thank you, Jacques. As for regrets, I have many but it’s past the time when I can do anything about them.” The glass shook as she brought it to her lips and drank, her eyes meeting his and saying everything.

      He raised his glass and drank too, not stopping until it was empty. The long draught of bitter beer wasn’t nearly enough to clear the pain clawing at his throat. It couldn’t even begin to dull the impact her words had made on the rest of his life.

      4

      Wednesday, December 21, 8:20 p.m.

      Kala grabbed her duffel bag from the cab of the truck and walked two blocks through the snowy streets to the YMCA-YWCA. The night duty cop had given her directions to the tallest building in the neighbourhood. He said it was impossible to miss. She decided to leave her truck in the police lot until somebody told her otherwise.

      An empty gym stood illuminated in the tall windows on the south side. She rounded the corner to find the main entrance. Up stone steps was a bright foyer with posters of flowers and art hanging on concrete block walls and a leaning silver Christmas tree in the centre of the space. The teenage girl on the desk had a bad case of acne but a friendly smile. She handed Kala a pen and clipboard to sign in. “How long will you be staying?”

      “End of the week probably.” Kala couldn’t think beyond that. She felt no connection to this job or city. She could see herself getting in her truck and heading back north without much regret. She wouldn’t allow herself give in yet. “I’ll pay for a week in advance.”

      “Tenth floor to the right of the elevator,” the girl said, taking Kala’s credit card before handing over a key.

      “Thanks.” Kala picked up her bag and headed toward the elevators.

      The Spartan blandness of the room and the cramped space were what she’d expected. A single bed with a greyish bedspread was set against the wall with just enough room for a bedside table and chest of drawers scarred by cigarette burns and rings from hot drinks. The overhead lamp cast harsh yellow light that hurt her eyes. She flicked off the switch and crossed the room in the dark to turn on the desk lamp. The bathroom and showers were down the hallway but she was sick with tiredness and stretched out on the bed. She promised herself a five-minute rest before going to clean up. In the room overhead, a radio was playing music that thump-thumped like a heartbeat through the ceiling. Women’s voices grew louder in the hallway, one of them laughing as they moved past her door. Kala closed her eyes and let her mind drift.

      She wasn’t sure what woke her — perhaps the elevator rumbling to a stop across the hall or somebody in the corridor — but whatever it was, her eyes snapped open and it took her a moment to recognize the room and its contents. The lamp was still burning. She raised her left arm and looked at her watch. One a.m. She’d slept nearly four hours, as if somebody had knocked her unconscious.

      She lay for a moment longer, imagining Jordan’s face and wondering if he was sleeping, if he knew she was gone for good. He probably had an inkling by now because she’d left Nipigon two days before. One day without seeing her wouldn’t have had him overly concerned, but she knew he’d be dropping by the station today to talk to her. He’d be puzzled when he found out that she wasn’t working the shift. Then he’d seek out Shannon, who worked the phones in the office. Shannon would tell him that Kala had gone away for a while, but not where. They’d worked the story out together.

      Kala stood and stepped out of her clothes, tossing them onto the chest of drawers. She pulled back the covers and slipped naked between the cotton sheets, reaching to turn off the lamp. Wind whistled through the window pane and rattled the glass. She’d forgotten to close the curtains and the light from a street lamp cast silvery light across the floor. Snow streaked down the glass in wind-blown swirls. She thought about getting up to shut out the night, but closed her eyes instead, snuggling deeper under the covers.

      Her mind wandered back over the day. Rouleau looked like someone who kept his cards close to his chest. Better this than a fake bastard who said a lot and meant nothing. She wasn’t sure about having a partner. She liked working alone and avoided teaming up as a rule. Whelan seemed sturdy enough though, if she had to have one.

      What would she be doing now if she was back in the North? Maybe finishing her tour of the town and starting down the beach road to check on the spots where kids liked to park and drink or make out in their cars with the heaters on full. She’d signal them with her headlights to pack it in for the night, making sure none got stranded in the drifting snow. She’d always liked the early morning hours of the night shift: the stillness of the woods, the night sky, the stars sparkling in the blackness that swallowed the earth.

      A feeling of loss tore through her. She breathed deeply, in and out, slowing her breathing and forcing herself to relax. For a moment, she was back in her little house on the edge of town with her black lab Taiku sleeping on the floor in his spot next to her bed. The same wind rattling against her window in Ottawa became the northern wind off Lake Superior, sweeping through the pine trees and whistling down her chimney.

      She rolled onto her side and tried to find a comfortable position on the lumpy mattress. If she found a place to live in this city that allowed dogs, she would drive home and get him from Shannon. The hell with the upheaval and the asphalt, the reasons she had left him behind. If she could adjust to a city, so could Taiku. Already she regretted leaving him, with more pain than she would have imagined.

      Geraldine’s legs throbbed like a couple of toothaches. The rest of her didn’t feel much better. She lay next to Max and listened to him snore while she slowly stretched out her legs to try to ease the ache running up her calves. Her body was running on empty while her mind wouldn’t shut off. Where could her father be and why hadn’t he been in touch? Why was Laurel so quick to think something awful had happened to him?

      If her dad and Laurel were having marriage problems, as she suspected they were, her dad was capable of changing his life in an instant. He’d left her mother for Laurel without warning. Maybe Laurel was about to find out what this felt like from the other end.

      Geraldine rolled closer to the edge of the king-sized bed and swung her legs over the side, careful not to wake Max. Warm milk might help her relax — her and the baby both if she was lucky. The little guy had been kicking and rolling around in her stomach the better part of an hour. She felt for her slippers in the darkness and grabbed her housecoat from the chair where she’d thrown it after her shower, then made her way downstairs to the kitchen. She quietly heated up a saucepan