Bleeding Darkness. Brenda Chapman

hooky? I thought you had a meeting.”

      “A call came in about a woman on Grenville Crescent who went for a walk and didn’t make it home yet. Apparently she’s not from Kingston and the family’s worried.”

      “Like some company?”

      “I thought you’d want to get home.”

      “I have time for a stop.”

      “If you’re sure. Might be good to have another set of eyes in case this turns into a search.”

      Kala pulled keys out of her pocket. “Give me a second to warm up the truck and I’ll follow you over.”

      chapter six

      The house was an older split-level, set back from the street, lights shining from every window. A mirror-image house sat dark and silent close to the property line on the neighbouring lot, no fence separating one from the other, coniferous trees and bushes abundant on both properties. The trees stretched into a forest to the left of the McKenna property line. Gundersund parked in their driveway while Stonechild found a spot for her truck on the street. He walked back to meet her at the foot of the drive, quickly chilled by the wind. The sun was nearly down, twilight soon to be overtaken by the night. A half moon and stars would break up the darkness.

      “Hopefully, this will be quick,” said Gundersund. He thought about how long it had been since the two of them had been out in the field together. Stonechild and Bennett had been teamed up three weeks earlier when he’d taken over for Rouleau. He knew they’d started seeing each other outside of work and the thought kept him from falling back to sleep in the middle of the night.

      “You never know with these calls. Could be a suicide.”

      “Hopefully not.” He wasn’t prepared to make the gruesome leap yet. Evelyn McKenna had said the missing woman went out for a walk — the woman from out of town. The likeliest scenario was that she ended up in a pub or restaurant out of the cold and lost track of time. He shivered and zipped up his jacket. It was looking like he’d have to pull out the parka. The warmer winter weather that had held through December was making a sharp plummet into the freezer.

      Stonechild jumped up and down, stomping her feet. “Let’s get inside before they find us frozen to death.”

      She strode ahead of him and the front door opened before her foot hit the bottom step. Two elderly women stood in the entranceway. The shorter one hovering in the background was wearing a black dress that stretched tight over a full bosom and fell past her knees, beige tights and sensible shoes, a red head scarf the only bit of colour. The one who had to be Evelyn, the more regal of the two with her grey hair tightly permed, held a black-and-white dog that appeared to be a spaniel and Boston terrier mix. The mutt was barking and squirming in her arms and looked ready to have a go at them.

      “Clemmie!” she said in a voice so sharp Gundersund froze with one foot inside the doorway. She lowered the dog to the floor while keeping a firm hand on his collar and looking up at Stonechild. “Let him sniff you and he’ll settle.”

      Clemmie took his time checking them out — lingering over Gundersund and growling low in his throat before Evelyn clipped out his name again — and then immediately lost interest in defending his castle, turning and walking away, his nails clicking on the hardwood. Gundersund’s eyes tracked him down the hallway. You’re probably going to lie near a hot air vent where I would love to stretch out alongside, you lucky dog.

      After introductions, Evelyn led them into a living room to the right of the entrance partway down the hall. Gundersund smelled traces of pipe tobacco before furniture polish and cleaner overpowered the scent. The room was small, the furniture made from dark-stained oak of a long-distant age, the grey couch cushions frayed but clean, the carpet faded even in the lamplight pooling from two end tables. The couch faced a fireplace with a charred grate swept clean. Evelyn gave them the couch while she and the neighbour, introduced as Antonia Orlov, pulled wing chairs closer, one on either side of the room. The space was gloomy and claustrophobic and Gundersund felt himself pulling in air through an open mouth, trying to fight past an asthma attack and regain his equilibrium. Stonechild sat perfectly still next to him, her eyes taking in the room while her face remained its usual inscrutable mask.

      Evelyn began speaking without prompting. Gundersund got the feeling she was used to taking control. “My daughter-in-law went for a walk in the early afternoon and nobody has heard from her since. The children are out searching for her.”

      “The children?” Stonechild asked.

      “Well, my adult children. Adam and Mona are in one car and Lauren and Tristan in another. We’re getting worried as you can imagine with Vivian pregnant and not from here. Her coat wasn’t suitable but she refused something of mine.”

      As if this was a bigger crime than being lost. Gundersund leaned forward, arms on his knees. “Was Vivian experiencing any medical issues with her pregnancy?”

      “Not that anybody told me. She certainly ate enough at mealtime and she insisted on wearing inappropriate high heeled boots even in her condition.”

      “How far along is she?”

      “From what they told me, four months. Girls are so careless these days. I put no stock in her reliability about anything. Today is one more reason.”

      Gundersund felt as if questioning Evelyn was like trying to catch an eel with his bare hands. He was relieved when Stonechild took over.

      “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? You said that Vivian is not from here. What is her full name and what is she doing in Kingston?

      “Why Vivian McKenna, of course, since she’s married to my son Tristan. None of this nonsense about keeping her maiden name. I insisted that if she was marrying my son, she had to take his name. They live in Edmonton but everyone is here because my husband is in the hospital.”

      Gundersund saw her chin quiver, the first sign of a chink in her prickly armour.

      Stonechild’s voice softened. “I’m sorry that your husband is ill. Can you tell me the other relationships for the names you gave earlier?”

      Evelyn relaxed her shoulders. She appeared to focus on Stonechild for the first time. “Adam is my eldest. He’s a pilot with Air Canada and his wife, Mona, is a teacher. They have a nine-year-old son, Simon, whom they left at home in Vancouver. Lauren is the second oldest, my daughter. She lives in Toronto and owns a kitchen design business.”

      “And what do Tristan and Vivian do for a living?”

      “Tristan is a writer. He had a bestselling novel a few years ago and is working on a new book while also freelancing. Vivian works at the Bay in cosmetics.” Evelyn’s mouth drooped as if pulled taut at the ends by a string.

      Her face was a series of tells that let them know exactly what she thought of the people in her life. Gundersund knew that Stonechild would be way ahead of him on this. She was as intuitive at reading people and situations as anyone he’d ever met. Except when it came to her own personal life.

      The other woman had been sitting motionless across from Evelyn, half in shadow, and she shifted slightly so that he could see her. “You live in the house next door?” he asked.

      Her eyes darted over to look at him. They were faded blue and startled above plump cheeks. “Yes, with husband,” she said, but it was enough for him to hear a strong Slavic accent.

      “Did you see Vivian today?”

      She shook her head, the red scarf slipping lower on her forehead.

      “What about your husband?”

      “Boris is working all day in basement. He make birdhouses.”

      “That are works of art,” said Evelyn. The two women smiled at each other.

      “My Boris has gift.”

      Gundersund felt Stonechild’s elbow against his arm as she