Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 5-Book Bundle. Brenda Chapman

shrugged. “If you say so.”

      They kept walking in silence. Susan wanted to break the wall that had grown between them, but felt helpless. Pauline pointed to the river ahead. The path curved left and a park bench sat in a clearing a few metres from the river. Bulrushes and reeds filled the space between the path and the waterline. It was a pleasant place to sit in the summer when the heat and humidity were too much to bear in the concrete suburbs.

      “How about a cup of tea and then we can head back?” Pauline asked.

      “Lovely.”

      Pauline rushed ahead and wiped the snow from half the bench. “You sit and I’ll stand,” she said. “I’ve been having trouble with my legs and don’t want them to seize up.”

      “Is that new?” Susan asked, concerned.

      “The doctor gave me a new prescription that seems to be helping with the circulation. Here, I’ll pour some tea.” She took off her glove and unscrewed the thermos lid, filling the cup to the brim and handing it to Susan. She took out another plastic cup from her jacket pocket. “I came prepared.” She poured some of the tea into it and raised it to her lips as she set the thermos on the bench next to Susan.

      “Lots of sugar,” said Susan. “Sweet but good,” she added so as not to offend.

      “I figured we’d need some energy.” Pauline watched her drink before turning her back and looking out over the frozen river. “I like it here. It’s so peaceful.”

      “Have you been spending much time with Geraldine and Amy Rose?”

      “Oh yes. There’s something about a baby that makes everything seem worthwhile. You haven’t been to visit?”

      “No. Clinton was home and it was hard to get away.”

      “He never seemed like a good match for you. Why ever did you marry him?”

      “Loneliness, I guess. He was attentive and persistent at the beginning.” Susan laughed. “He still is, come to think of it, but now his behaviour just seems controlling.”

      “Well, drink up. Would you like a bit more before we head back?”

      Susan drained the last of her cup. “No, this is fine, thanks.” She handed the cup in Pauline’s direction, but Pauline had suddenly gone blurry.

      “Wow, I feel dizzy all of a sudden.” She could make out Pauline staring at her from behind those damn sunglasses. Susan started to stand but fell back onto the bench. “Everything is spinning. What … was in … that tea?”

      “GHB, which the kids tell me stands for grievous bodily harm,” Pauline said, matter-of-factly. Her voice was as cold as the frosty air. She poured the tea from her own cup in a long golden stream into the snow. “Causes dizziness, trouble moving, and loss of consciousness. If I’m lucky, seizures and problems breathing. It takes about fifteen minutes to take full effect.”

      “Why?” Susan gripped onto the underside of the bench with both hands to steady herself. Even the fear coursing through her felt off balance.

      “To kill you. Why else? Tom fell for the same trick. Oh, don’t look at me like that. The two of you played me for a fool, but I’ve shown you both that I won’t accept your betrayal. I was out walking that night he spent in your bedroom. I saw him go inside and then the two of you embracing through your bedroom window. I went home and got my car and waited outside until he went home. How long had the affair been going on? Did you think you were Charles and Camilla, screwing around behind my back while we were married? You both must have found it so funny, putting one over on me all these years and laughing at how pathetic I was. Well, she who laughs last….”

      Susan tried to shake her head. Lights trailed like shooting stars across her vision. Pauline had drugged Tom? Horror kept her hanging onto the shreds of reality already slipping away. “Benny,” she mumbled, “too?”

      “I overheard him with Max in the office. They were screwing around on Geraldine and had been for years, just like you and Tom were on me. Sinners, the whole lot of you.” Pauline took a step closer and wrapped a hand under Susan’s arm. She bent down and whispered through clenched teeth into Susan’s ear, “Somebody has to make you pay for your sins, you see that, don’t you? The beauty is that Clinton will be blamed. I’ve left enough clues to put him away for a very long time. Three murders’ worth. That ought to bring you some cold comfort. Geraldine, Amy Rose, and I are going to start a new life free from the lot of you, and you, my dear friend, will find out how it feels to have your life destroyed just as I did.” She cocked her head sideways, “Of course, you won’t remember any of this so you probably won’t know. But whatever.”

      Susan screamed, but her throat barely got the sound out. The wind carried her fear into the woods with nobody to save her. She tried to grip more tightly onto the bench as Pauline yanked her forward. Her arms were as floppy as a rag doll’s. She stumbled to her knees and looked up at Pauline’s bright red face, so familiar and so grotesque. It kept fading in and out like an image distorted by mirrors in a fun house. Panic shot up from her stomach.

      “I don’t want to die,” she screamed with all the fear of a woman who knew the end was near. The words were garbled when they finally made it to her lips.

      Pauline kicked her in the side. “You should have thought of that before you slept with my husband.”

      38

      Sunday, February 26, 8:45 a.m.

      Rouleau took Stonechild’s call in his kitchen. “You’re up early for a Saturday,” he said while shuffling eggs with a spatula around the frying pan. He glanced at his watch. “Not even nine yet. Eager to put your media training to work?” Her excited voice at the other end made him smile. “No, but I am psyched about something I found out yesterday. I’ve been up most of the night going through the files and I think I have proof.”

      “Proof of what?”

      “Who killed Tom Underwood and Benny Goldstone.”

      “It’s not your case anymore, Stonechild.”

      “I know, I know, but this fell into my lap. I was with friends I hadn’t seen in a long time yesterday and the little girl goes to the after four program at the community centre downtown. Guess who her art teacher was?”

      Rouleau shifted left to pop down the bread in the toaster. “No idea. Who?”

      “Pauline Underwood. Tom’s ex-wife.”

      Rouleau paused, the spatula suspended above the frying pan. “And?”

      “Pauline told this little girl before Christmas that she was leaving to get married. Her husband was coming back to her at long last. As you recall, her husband was Tom Underwood, and he was planning to marry her best friend Susan.”

      Rouleau lowered the spatula and began scrapping the eggs from where they’d begun to brown. “If this is true, it’s bizarre behaviour. Maybe even delusional.”

      “Isn’t it? Anyhow, I spent the night going through all the documents and Pauline could have done the murders. In fact, she’s the logical choice when you look at who was killed. Also, don’t forget Susan’s near-death experience in the Gatineaus.”

      “Why’s it logical?” The facts of the case filed through his brain.

      “Let’s say Pauline found out about Tom and Susan and their affair. Here’s a woman who thinks she’s about to be reunited with her ex-husband, only to find out he’s sleeping with her best and oldest friend. Pauline’s family mentioned a few times her desperation and odd behaviour when Tom left her for Laurel. She stopped eating and visited a counsellor, likely a shrink if you read between the lines. It makes sense she would have tried to make them both pay for what she must have believed was their betrayal. For an unstable woman, it wouldn’t matter that years had passed since she and Tom were married. Tom’s murder was personal. I think she got him to drop in for coffee early