Читать книгу Cold Mourning - Brenda Chapman - Страница 9

Thursday, December 22, 10:30 a.m.

Kala rang the bell for the second time on the front door of the detached brick house and listened to it chime inside the house. They were deep in the new subdivision named Chapman Mills on Haileybury Street. The homes were so close together, people had to walk single file to get between them. It was hard to believe anyone liked living in a place where they couldn’t see the stars at night.

While she waited, she mapped out the area in her mind. Prince of Wales Drive, a major thoroughfare, separated Pauline Underwood’s Chapman Mills subdivision from the Rideau River and the wealthier homes where Pauline’s ex Tom and his new wife Laurel lived on Winding Way. It was about a ten minute drive between the two subdivisions. She glanced toward the street. No car parked in the driveway, so it was either in the attached garage that took up half of the house’s frontage or Pauline was away.

Through the thickness of the door, she heard footsteps coming down the hallway toward her. Kala motioned for Whelan to join her on the steps. Whelan snapped his cellphone shut and just made it to the top step as the door swung open. His eyes were worried.

“Everything okay?” Kala asked over her shoulder.

“Baby has cold and now a fever. Meghan’s going to take him to the doctor if it goes any higher.”

The door swung half-way open. A tall woman with white hair to her shoulders looked out, one hand resting on the door frame. Her brown eyes peered at them over half-moon glasses. She wore designer blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt sprinkled in red paint splatter.

“Yes, may I help you?”

Whelan held up his badge. “We’re from the Ottawa Police and would just like to ask you a few questions about the disappearance of your ex-husband.”

The former Mrs. Underwood raised a hand to her chest. “Thank God. He’s still just missing.… I thought you were going to tell me something horrible. Come in. Come in, please.” She swung the door open and stepped down the hallway. “We can sit in the kitchen if you don’t mind. The living room is in a state.”

Kala glanced into the living room on the way by. Drop cloths covered the furniture. The smell of fresh paint was strong. The fireplace wall was cranberry red and the rest of the walls were beige.

The hallway was lined with framed photographs of flowers, leading into a large, sunny kitchen with glass doors along one wall and a pine table directly in front. The oak cupboards and stainless steel appliances looked new. Several watercolour paintings filled one wall. Lake scenes and flowers. They gave the room a homey feel.

“Coffee?” asked Pauline Underwood, already crossing the space to the coffee maker. “I just put on a pot. I’m not sure why I made so much.” Her voice trailed away.

Kala met Whelan’s eyes. “Sure, that would be nice. Thank you,” she said.

They took seats at the table, Whelan at one end and Kala facing the window. The backyard was small and half filled by a raised cedar deck. Birdfeeders hung from the only tree. Pauline carried over a tray with mugs of coffee, cream, and sugar in a matching blue pottery pattern. She slid into a seat across from Kala.

“I know Tom’s missing. Our daughter Geraldine called me yesterday to find out if I’d heard from him. Laurel called earlier as well. We don’t talk on the phone as a rule.”

As agreed before they got out of the police car, Kala took the lead. “When was the last time you saw Tom?”

“Oh my, let me think. I’d have to say a month ago. I cooked a birthday dinner for Geraldine, and Tom came by for cake. Laurel had a headache and stayed home.” Pauline’s eyes met Kala’s before she looked down. The dark smudging under her eyes spoke of unquiet nights.

“How did Tom seem? Was he upset about anything?”

“Tom wasn’t a man who showed emotion. The stock market could have crashed and burned and he wouldn’t have let on anything was wrong.”

“Did he talk about any problems at work or in his life?”

“Well, he worked too much and business was stressful. His diet was terrible after our divorce. I’m not sure Laurel knew how to cook.” Pauline lifted her mug and held it in front of the tight line of her mouth.

“It couldn’t have been easy for you.” Kala watched Pauline’s eyes.

Pauline slowly lowered the cup. “No, but our marriage ended ten years ago when Tom hit the mid-life crisis. I’ve long forgiven him. We’re friends again, although I’m not particularly fond of Laurel.” She shrugged. “I’m sure you can understand.”

“Do you have any idea where Tom might have gone?”

“No. I’m not privy to his comings and goings. If he and Laurel were having trouble, he might be somewhere clearing his head. When we were married, he was gone a week before he got in touch with me to tell me that he was leaving.”

“You must have been frantic.”

“No. I knew he was having an affair. I was hoping … well, that he’d get her out of his system and come home. I thought he just needed some time. I knew it would devastate Geraldine and Hunter if we separated. Unfortunately, Hunter still doesn’t have a good relationship with his father.”

“It seems like a long time not to get over a parents’ divorce.”

“They’re both strong-willed men.”

Kala took a drink of coffee and signalled Whelan with her eyes.

He handed Pauline a card. “Call any time and leave a message if you think of anything. One of us will be back to you as soon as we can.”

“Thank you, I will.”

They stood. “Nice paintings,” commented Whelan, moving toward them. “Is that your signature at the bottom?”

“Why, yes. I dabble and also teach at two youth centres twice a week. It’s something to do.”

“You should sell some. They’re very good.”

“I mostly give them to family and friends. I’ve sold a few.”

They started down the hallway to the front door just as the doorbell rang.

“It’s probably my friend Susan Halliday, who’s come for our morning walk.” Pauline stepped past them and opened the door.

The woman standing on the top step was about the same age as Pauline but her hair was a chestnut brown and pulled back into a pony tail, making her seem younger than a woman approaching sixty. Both women were in good shape and wore their clothes well. Susan Halliday had on a red ski jacket, black gortex pants, and runners. Her smile disappeared when she saw Pauline’s visitors.

“I didn’t realize. If you’d rather run later, I can come back,” She turned and started down the steps.

“We were just leaving,” said Whelan. “No need to go on our account.” He passed her on the stairs, doing up his jacket as he went.

“Come in, Susan,” Pauline called over Kala’s head. “I’ll just be a few secs.”

Susan hesitated and waved toward her Mazda. “I’ll just get my water bottle and will be right back.”

Kala looked back at Pauline. “Thank you for your time.”

Pauline blinked as if being pulled back from somewhere far away. The tight line of her mouth relaxed and a hand came up to brush back the hair from her forehead. “I hope you find Tom soon,” she said as she started to close the door. “Christmas is when a family should be together.”

Whelan started the car as Kala climbed in the passenger side. He leaned forward and scraped at some frost from the inside front window while they waited for the engine to warm up. “What did you think of Tom’s ex?” he asked.

“I know why Laurel avoids family get-togethers with the clan. I’d have a headache too.”

“What you find out about families. Makes me satisfied with my own lot.”

“Where to next?”

“We can swing east swing and talk to the son before we head downtown to Underwood’s office.”

“Works,” said Kala. She checked her notepad. “Looks like a bit of a drive. Hunter lives just off Highway 417 near Carlsbad Springs.”

“A country boy. Should take forty-five minutes or so to get there.”

Kala looked out the side window. Snow had begun lightly falling and flakes were landing on the glass like confetti. She glanced into the side mirror as they pulled away. The friend, Susan Halliday, stood behind her vehicle watching them. Kala kept herself from turning around to stare.

“You know what’s odd?” she said to Whelan.

“What’s that?” He looked over at her.

“Her friend, that Halliday woman, went for a water bottle but I could see the shape of one inside her jacket.”

“Maybe she just forgot she already had it.”

“Maybe,” said Kala. Or maybe she was just trying to avoid talking to us.

She kept the thought to herself.

An hour and a half later, Whelan was driving at a snail’s pace the length of the country road for the third time. The snow had picked up speed and was making visibility difficult. Kala squinted toward an opening in the jagged line of snowbanks.

“This has to be his driveway. I can’t see anything else.”

“What, is the guy in the witness protection program?” asked Whelan. “Where the hell is his mailbox?”

He turned the car slowly and started up the unplowed side road, which wound to the right through pine trees and bushes frozen in ice. It was icy, slow going. Half a kilometre on, a black and tan dog the size of a Rottweiler bolted out of the woods and began loping alongside their car. Kala could see its head bobbing up and down outside her window.

“Careful,” she said to Whelan. “The dog could slip under the tire.”

Whelan muttered under his breath and scowled but slowed the car to a crawl. Finally, he pulled into a clearing and parked next to a green Cherokee Jeep. A small cabin was set back into the trees. Smoke billowed from the chimney and disappeared skyward into the falling snow.

“What do you think our chances are with the dog?” asked Whelan, leaning his arms on the steering wheel and turning to face her.

“Scared?”

“Let’s say I have a healthy respect.”

“I’ll go first,” said Kala already opening her door. “Hey boy,” she called. The dog’s tail wagged. “How are you boy? You protecting your property?” She reached down her hand to let him smell before scratching his head. She stepped out of the car and looked back at Whelan. “The danger has been neutralized.”

She straightened and looked over at the cabin. A man stood in the open doorway holding a cup of coffee. He whistled through his fingers and the dog ran toward him. Kala and Whelan followed at a slower pace. They stopped a few yards away.

“Hunter Underwood?” asked Kala. She blinked as his eyes stared into hers. His were a riveting deep grey, lined in dark lashes. “We’re with the Ottawa Police. We’ve come to speak with you about your father.”

“Come in,” he said, turning abruptly and disappearing inside.

Whelan looked at Kala and shrugged before he led the way up the stairs.

The living room was sparsely furnished. A battered leather recliner sat near the window with a floor lamp next to it. Bookcases lined two walls. The only other piece was a roll-top desk with a laptop set on top. She followed the men into the kitchen. It was a long, narrow galley with a small table and two chairs at the far end. Tall, lead-paned windows let in greyish light.

“Have a chair,” said Hunter pointing to the two at the table. “Coffee?”

The dog padded silently across the floor and flopped down at Kala’s feet. She felt its head rest against her leg and shifted so that there was more room for the dog between her foot and the chair leg. She imagined Taiku’s weight pressed against her and felt an overwhelming longing for home. The cabin resembled her own small place not far from Lake Superior.

She moved her head to study Hunter as he poured them each a cup. He hadn’t shaved and was dressed in faded jeans and a checked shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked to be five eleven, a hundred and sixty pounds, with wide shoulders, lean physique, and curly brown hair that brushed his collar. After he set the coffee cups and the milk container on the table, he leaned up against the counter and sipped from his cup. He didn’t appear disturbed by their presence. She wondered if his calmness was an act.

Whelan cleared his throat. “You know who we are I gather?”

“Since I heard my father is missing, I figure you’ve come to find out if I know anything.”

“And do you?”

“No.”

“Have you seen your father recently?”

“He came by a week ago.”

Whelan looked down at his notes. “We were informed that you and your father are estranged.”

“We are, more or less.”

“Then why the visit?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing. He said it was time to mend fences.”

Kala said, “I imagine you found that odd after ten years of not being on speaking terms.”

Hunter looked at her and then at his dog lying with its jaw on her boot. “You’ve made friends with Fabio. Not many do.”

Kala looked down and smiled. She reached a hand to pet the dog’s massive head before looking up at Hunter. He was still watching her, his grey eyes observant, taking in more than she would have liked.

Whelan cleared his throat again. “So how’d the visit with your father go?”

“Okay. He came into my shop and we talked while I worked on a painting. He seemed at ease. I got the feeling he just wanted to get away from his life for an hour.”

“Was something making him unhappy or depressed?”

“We didn’t talk long enough for me to find out anything personal. He asked if he could visit me again soon. I told him to do as he liked. If I had to say my impression of his state of mind, I’d say regretful.”

“He didn’t give any indication why?” Whelan asked.

Hunter grinned as if Whelan had said something funny. “He had lots to regret, let’s just put it that way.”

“Do you know of anybody who would want to harm your father?”

“I’m really not part of his world so I couldn’t say. Did you ask my brother-in-law Max Oliver? He’d know more about Dad’s life than I do since they work together.”

“We’ll be sure to raise it with him.” Whelan jotted in his notebook.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea where he could have gone,” said Kala.

“Not a clue.”

Whelan took his time pulling a card out of his pocket. “If you hear from your dad …”

“I’ll be sure to let you know,” finished Hunter.

They stood to leave. The dog followed them out of the kitchen and down the hall.

Kala stopped near the front door and turned toward Hunter. “You said you were painting. Is that your profession?”

“I paint portraits on commission, but my main line of work is sculpting.”

“You must get your art gene from your mother. We were just admiring her paintings.”

“She taught me when I was young and she still works with inner city kids in the after-school programs. My studio’s out back if you’d like a tour.”

“We’re due back at the station.”

“Well, another time.”

She didn’t respond. There was something about Hunter and the piercing way he looked at her that put her off-balance. His eyes made her want to keep looking back. A family with all that money, and he chose to live like a hermit. His home wasn’t much different than hers, although their lives were separated by culture and financial gaps so wide it was unthinkable that they would have anything in common.

Kala and Whelan walked back to their car and got in. Whelan turned the key in the ignition and looked over at her.

“I’m beginning to think Tom Underwood just left to get his head straight. He might have come to see his son because he was planning to leave and wanted to make amends for whatever went on in the past.”

Kala thought it over. “Maybe.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“He asked if he could come visit again. That doesn’t sound like a man getting ready to leave town.”

“You could be right.” Whelan backed the car into an opening where he could turn around. “It’s late to go to Underwood’s office now. We wasted a lot of time looking for this guy. We have to fill in our reports on the two interviews and still have a half hour drive to get back to Ottawa.”

“We could do the reports tomorrow.”

Whelan shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way. Reports have to be filed the same day. Vermette’s rules. We’ll be at the office half the night if we make another stop. I’m going to head back to the station and we’ll get the paperwork done. We can visit Underwood’s workplace tomorrow. We also have the party tonight and Meghan has that hair appointment.”

“Okay,” said Kala. She didn’t see the rush to fill in paperwork, but no crime had been committed yet, so they weren’t exactly racing against time.