Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 4-Book Bundle. Brenda Chapman

The feeling she was running out of time was becoming so strong that it was all she could do not to just chuck this job and spend all her waking hours looking for her cousin. Yet a feeling of dread wasn’t a good enough reason to let Rouleau down. She felt like she owed him something and the feeling didn’t sit well. She never liked to be in debt to anyone — or attached either, but his sadness was a magnet. She could see the loss in his eyes when he thought nobody was looking.

      Susan left Geraldine and Pauline after two cups of coffee and three homemade sugar cookies. It was the first food she’d eaten since Clinton made her poached eggs and toast the evening before. Her strength was returning but still fragile, feeling as if a good wind would blow her away.

      She walked through the blocks of houses back toward her home, passing her street to reach the Jock River, a smaller river that fed into the Rideau. She started down the pathway that split off from the road, careful to set her feet in tracks made by others ahead of her.

      She loved this city with its three major waterways, web of bike paths, and unexpected forests. During the coming summer, she’d walk the length of the canal, taking time to sit under her favourite oak tree at Dow’s Lake before climbing the hill to the Central Experimental Farm. She’d linger in the gardens and sit on the stone bench by the shallow rectangular pool, watching the plump goldfish pass lazily through the veil of tangled plants. The police said they’d found Tom there. Not by the pond but close by in the visitor parking lot, hidden in the trunk of his car. She couldn’t let the image take shape in her mind. The strength in his hands, the mind that never stopped, the energy that verged on hyperactive — she still couldn’t believe the essence of him had been extinguished. Surely, he was just taking a break from the world and would call her one day when he was ready.

      She let her feet take her down the slippery incline, the path trampled by cross-country skiers and dog walkers. Clouds were moving in fast, already hiding the sun. The shadows turned the river dark and dangerous. Further out, she saw breaks in the ice where the current churned without end. She stood well back on the path, watching the shifting ice and bluish shadows in crevices of ice and snow.

      She thought back to the first time she’d seen Tom Underwood. She’d been in grade nine, new to the west end neighbourhood. Her older sister Rhonda let her tag along to the Britannia Theatre to see a matinee. It was an Elvis Presley movie and she’d begged to be allowed to go. They’d only lived in their townhouse a few weeks but Rhonda already had a circle of friends and seemed to know everybody in the new school. She was outgoing and popular while Susan was ill at ease with people. She always thought they were judging her and seeing the flaws she saw in herself.

      They’d paid for their tickets and walked into the lobby, a cavernous, noisy room decorated in red and purple with giant movie posters covering the walls. Tom was there with two other boys who walked over to say hello to Rhonda. He’d stood out from the others, even then. Black hair and blue eyes that saw everything, and a self-assured swagger that let you know he was going places. She’d felt something inside shift when she’d looked at him. It was a dazzling lightness in her chest that she’d never experienced before. The intensity of her feelings frightened her, but in a good way. He’d barely looked in her direction, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. She’d watched the back of his head three rows in front for the entire movie.

      The boys had left while she waited for Rhonda outside the washroom. It wasn’t until they were walking home that she’d asked Rhonda who he was.

      “Tom Underwood. He’s in my math class,” Rhonda had said. “He thinks he’s really something.”

      “Maybe he is,” Susan had said without thinking.

      Rhonda had stopped walking to stare at her. “He’s not the kind of guy you should go for. He’s too good looking and self-centred to be true.”

      “As if he’d ever look at me twice.” She said it to keep Rhonda from guessing her true feelings.

      Weeks sped by. She made friends with Pauline Green. They were both on the girls’ volleyball team and walked home after practice together. They both liked sports, weren’t doing well in school, and both wanted to be movie stars. Susan couldn’t believe someone as popular and pretty as Pauline Green would want to be her friend. Up until then, she’d only been allowed on the fringes of the in crowd — not a full fledged member, but not one of the complete losers either. Pauline liked having her around for reasons known only to Pauline.

      The first dance of the year was being put on by student council. It was the week before Halloween. Susan shyly told Pauline that she liked a boy in her sister’s class and he’d probably be at the dance.

      “What’s his name?” asked Pauline. She was tall and slim with large breasts and dark hair that she wore long and straight.

      “Tom Underwood,” said Susan. Just saying his name made her feel hot and flushed. She immediately regretted sharing the name that made her heart beat fast; the face she saw just before falling asleep.

      “I know Tom,” said Pauline, linking her arm through Susan’s. “I’ll introduce you.”

      Susan hadn’t known Pauline well enough to be wary.

      She wasn’t able to sleep the night before the dance. She kept running over and over in her mind what she would say when Pauline introduced her to Tom. She felt like she was going to meet her destiny.

      The gods must have been laughing up their sleeves.

      Pauline told her a month later on the way home from school that she and Tom started seeing each other the weekend before the dance. They’d met in the parking lot of Dunkin’ Donuts on Carling Avenue, and he’d told her she was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen. She got into his car and they drove around until he found a dark spot in the empty Carlingwood Mall parking lot. They’d made out in the back of his car. She’d kept it secret until then to spare Susan’s feelings. She was sure Susan would have forgotten about him right after the dance. She hadn’t meant it to go like that, but Susan hadn’t even met Tom so it wasn’t like he was hers to steal.

      Susan shivered inside her winter coat. Flakes of snow were drifting down from the sky. She lifted her face and closed her eyes. The cold was good on her cheeks and forehead. She still felt feverish from the flu. Her stomach hurt and she was tired. Perhaps she should have taken the car to visit Pauline. The walk suddenly seemed like more effort than she had to expend. She turned to walk back up the slope to the road, hunched over like an old woman. The walk home would take her twenty minutes. She’d reward herself with a soak in the tub before taking a nap. She’d wake up in time to wait for Clinton to call, as she did every night when he was away.

      19

      Monday, December 26, 2:00 p.m.

      Archambault was tall, stooped at the shoulders, and filled with apologies for keeping them waiting. He said he’d been stuck in traffic driving in from the west end. His entire family had gathered for Boxing Day lunch, and it had been hard to get away. They sat in his office on the third floor of a white stucco building on the outskirts of downtown Montreal. Kala could see the four-lane highway from his window. The sound of traffic was a constant low hum, rising up from the snow-covered pavement.

      Grayson asked the questions while Kala took notes. She watched Archambault’s eyes for signs that he was lying. He fidgeted with a pen that he sucked on between responses. He’d chosen to sit behind his desk as if he needed a physical barrier to separate them.

      Grayson’s face was skeptical and his voice held a undertone of disbelief that grew with each response. Kala wasn’t sure if he this was his interview style or if he was letting his annoyance at having her along show through. Whatever it was, he wasn’t helping her figure out Archambault, who was growing increasingly on edge.

      “This firm isn’t in the armoury business,” he repeated. “We build bridges and infrastructure. I worked on the design for the armoured car in my spare time. The study of war is my hobby. I became curious about a better way to protect our men and women in war zones. Most of those killed or maimed have run over land mines or homemade bombs. It seemed