Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 4-Book Bundle. Brenda Chapman

along. After a pause, Grayson slid a piece of paper across the table and Belliveau picked it up. He read what was on it and shrugged.

      “Yeah, we were supposed to meet, but I talked to him at the party and said since it was a late night, we’d reschedule for another day.”

      “Did anyone hear you reschedule.”

      “Not that I know of. We were alone at the time and it wouldn’t have interested anyone else. Is this why you called me in? Over a postponed meeting?”

      “Why didn’t you tell us about this meeting when we asked earlier this week and again a few minutes ago?” Grayson’s voice was puzzled, non-believing.

      “Because we’d cancelled it. There was nothing to tell, and to be honest, it slipped my mind. It was almost Christmas and we were rescheduling meetings all week. If you hadn’t just shown me the email, I would never have remembered. Do you know how many meetings I attend in the course of a week? At least thirty. Do I need a lawyer?”

      “That’s up to you. You’re not under arrest.”

      “Good.” Belliveau’s voice rose. “’Cause for a minute there, it sounded like you were getting ready to make an accusation.”

      Kala looked at Rouleau. “They’re not going to get anything out of him, are they?”

      Rouleau fixed his stare on Belliveau a while longer before turning to look at her. “No. He’s sidestepped the lie with something impossible for us to disprove even if it is hard to believe he wouldn’t have remembered they were supposed to have a meeting the morning Underwood went missing.”

      “He knew how it would look. His word against a dead man’s. He probably thought we’d never find out.”

      “And he’d already planned what to say if we did.”

      “Well, I’ll push off then. It’s been a long day.” Kala stepped away from the glass. Rouleau stopped her at the door.

      “How’re you doing with the Underwood clan? Anyone standing out?”

      “They all seem to have a secret or two. I may never learn the full truth of their tangled relationships.”

      “If you had to guess?”

      “Susan Halliday … not that I think she killed Tom Underwood, but I think she knows something. I also worry that her empty gas tank wasn’t an accident.”

      “I’d like you to interview her again. Tomorrow, if possible.”

      “She’s going home from the hospital today. I’ll swing by in the morning.” She took a step closer to Rouleau. “Does this mean you don’t think Underwood’s death is work-related?”

      “At this point, I have no idea. I agree though that Susan’s near-death experience could be linked and you should pursue it.”

      “I heard that Vermette’s hoping to close the file today.”

      “He’s not alone, but we haven’t got enough to charge anybody, let alone go to trial. Keep in touch tomorrow and enjoy your evening.”

      Kala nodded and left before he could ask how she intended to spend it.

      She returned to the YWCA and put on her navy parka, jeans, and knee-high Sorel boots to stake out the apartment buildings. She was dressing in dark colours to stay hidden tonight. It would be bad if the target spotted her hanging around, looking like a victim too many nights in a row.

      While waiting for the elevator, she rechecked the map she’d printed with the locations of the previous assaults marked in red dots. “This has to be the building,” she said aloud, resting her finger on the last high-rise in the string. She looked guiltily around to make certain nobody else was in the hallway. Living alone, she’d taken to talking to herself. It was a bad habit in the city. Grab ’n Go was working his way down Richmond Road, skipping buildings but always heading east. There were only two apartment towers left in the row and she was betting on the last. She wondered what he would do when he was finished with this row of apartment buildings. Start over or pick a new area? Hopefully he’d never have the chance to begin in a new location.

      Twenty minutes later, she parked in the Lincoln Fields parking lot, choosing a different end of the mall to leave her truck. She crossed Richmond Road on foot and headed toward the nine-storey sprawling apartment building with the black-tinted windows. It was a more modern structure than its neighbours and tucked further back from the road next to a line of trees and a field. A string of globe lights on top of black poles led up the walkway. Two of the lights were burnt out near the entrance, creating a promising section of darkness on the path.

      The night was partially overcast, the moon hidden behind a pocket of cloud. Now and then it reappeared and cast a shimmering light onto the snow. The air wasn’t as frigid as it had been that morning, for which Kala gave silent thanks. She’d been warned that Ottawa weather was capricious and changed on a dime. The meteorologists had said often enough that global warming would make weather go crazy around the world. The Ottawa Valley might be the canary in the coal mine.

      She surveyed the path and parking lot, looking for a sheltered place to stand where she wouldn’t be easily seen. She settled on a spot behind an oak tree ten feet from the path, even with the darkened section of the walkway. The position was a good vantage point for seeing a section of the sidewalk and the path leading to the front door of the building. It also protected her from the gusty easterly wind. She pulled her hood up over her head and squatted down in the snow to wait.

      Cars and city buses periodically passing on Richmond Road broke the evening’s silence. Pedestrian traffic was light, and those few who passed by on the sidewalk walked quickly, heads down, buffeted by the wind and swirling snow. Each time someone came into view, Kala raised her head and followed their progress as long as they remained in her line of vision. The rest of the time she let her thoughts wander.

      Rouleau’s request for her to name her prime suspect for Underwood’s murder had triggered her to reconsider the suspects. She’d been treating each with equal suspicion and hadn’t rated them one against the other. Now she lined them up in her head.

      Laurel definitely had a lot to gain from her husband’s death, especially if she had gotten wind that he was planning to change his will and divorce her. Kala believed the surprise in Laurel’s eyes when she found out the will had already been changed. Perhaps, she thought that by killing him she’d prevent a loss in fortune. Even more damning was her seemingly secret, close relationship with Hunter. They could have murdered Tom together or separately.

      Then, there were Max and Geraldine. They gained financially and Max gained business-wise. From what she’d seen of him, he wasn’t exactly a doting husband. He actually appeared effeminate, something she hadn’t put in any report since it was only a personal observation. Besides, being effeminate didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t interested in women. One had to be careful of stereotypes. He’d just fathered a baby, after all. Maybe he’d talked Geraldine into killing her father. She’d known of men who had that amount of control over their wives.

      Then, there was Pauline, the ex-wife who appeared to be a loose cannon. If she believed Laurel, Pauline had never recovered from Tom’s desertion, but did she have the wherewithal to kill, and why after all this time?

      Kala liked Susan Halliday as a person but had serious concerns about her army husband Clinton, who seemed to hide a well of nastiness behind a rigid facade. Susan’s near-fatal accident put Clinton top of the list in her mind. If only she knew why he would kill Tom Underwood — did Tom know something about Clinton that got him killed? Was it even a family member who committed the murder?

      Kala sighed. She really couldn’t rule anybody out yet. In fact, the list kept growing longer, not shorter. J.P. Belliveau had just as much motivation as did the inventor Archambault in Montreal as far as she could see. God only knew what other business associates had it in for Underwood. It was becoming a big muddle, but she knew that one piece of evidence would make all the bits fall into place. The trick was patience. She’d have to start