Читать книгу Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 3-Book Bundle - Brenda Chapman - Страница 13

Friday, December 23, 7:00 a.m.

Geraldine Oliver woke up before Max but pretended to be asleep. It was another hour before he shut off the alarm and finally got out of bed. Seven a.m. Forty minutes and he’d be gone for the day. The baby was heavy in her belly. For the past two months, she’d been forced to sleep on her side, her back to Max. She couldn’t believe she had four more weeks of discomfort before the baby was due. Surely the kid was full size by now. Any bigger and it would come out riding a tricycle.

She heard Max rummaging around, getting his suit from the closet and searching for his shoes under the dresser. It was easy to keep her breathing deep and even. She even drifted off a few times. She sensed him standing over the bed looking down at her and slowed her breathing even more. What the hell was he doing? Did he think he could stare her into waking up? At long last she heard him cross the floor and start down the stairs. She let her breath out in a loud sigh when he reached the bottom.

She waited a good fifteen minutes after she heard the front door slam before she swung her aching legs over the side of the bed. It would have been catastrophic if he’d come back for something and caught her up and about. He’d have known she’d been faking sleep to avoid him.

She flicked on the flat screen on her way to the bathroom. Max had left it on CNN, and she didn’t bother to change the channel. She just wanted to hear another voice. If she hadn’t promised Hunter she’d drive to his place for lunch, she would have run a bath and spent the morning lying in bubbles and reading the Harlan Coben thriller she’d picked up at the library. She’d become good at idling away her days, but not today. A quick shower would do and then she’d eat something light and head off to the hairdresser’s for a shampoo and cut. There’d be enough time to stop at the bakery for fresh bread and dessert before the drive to Hunter’s.

She reached for a towel and facecloth in the cupboard. Her hand lingered, her fingers stretching to the back of the shelf and under a pile of towels. Her hand closed around one of the two bottles she’d hidden the day before. The glass was deliciously smooth to her touch and she ran her fingers up and down its curved length. She remembered the colour of the bottle was emerald green, her favourite colour. She forced her hand away from the temptation and traced her fingers across her bulging belly.

One day at a time. She could put off a drink one more day.

The bathroom tile was cool under her bare feet. She sat sideways on the edge of the bathtub, awkwardly bending over to turn on the taps. Her fingers opened wide under the rush of warm water. It felt soothing and she sat for a while longer. Then, she stood with a grunt and slipped out of her nightgown. It pooled around her feet in a silken heap. Her face reflected exhaustion in the mirror but her eyes were determined.

She stepped into the shower and raised her face to let the water pour over her in a steaming cascade, the drops hitting her skin like pin pricks. She kept her eyes closed and avoided looking down at her misshapen belly.

Max had said he could hardly stand to look at her anymore. He’d told her she’d have to start dieting right after the baby if she wanted him to be attracted to her again. He’d prepaid her gym membership, not even asking if she wanted it. She’d imagined herself beautiful when they first met because he’d looked at her like she was. Now, when she looked into his eyes she saw the homely woman she’d been all along. His disgust hurt like a knot twisting in her chest. It was the most horrible feeling she’d ever known. At times, taking another breath had been an effort, the pain threatening to strangle her.

Kala pressed Laurel Underwood’s doorbell one more time. Rouleau had dropped her near her truck after she’d offered to make this call on her way home for a few hours of sleep. He’d continued on to the station to update Vermette. Whelan should have been with her, but he’d left some jumbled message on her cellphone around midnight and hadn’t been reachable since. So far, she thought working with a partner wasn’t much different than working alone.

It was the morning before Christmas Eve. She’d expected Laurel to be at home. A cheery evergreen wreath with a silver bow and red berries that hung on the door felt out of sync with the news Kala had come to break to Tom Underwood’s wife. She didn’t plan to give many details about the death. It would have done no good to talk about how they’d found her husband’s stiff body crowded into the trunk of his Mercedes. The coroner, Grogan, estimated Underwood had been dead a few days, but it was hard to say when exactly because the freezing temperatures had kept him preserved like meat in a locker. Grogan said that Underwood was alive when he was locked inside the trunk. He’d found scratch marks inside the trunk and Underwood’s nails were ripped and ragged, caked in dried blood. Underwood had definitely been alive and trying to get out. She thought about what he must have gone through when he realized the trunk would be his frigid tomb. The cruelty of somebody leaving him to freeze made her want to punch something.

She pulled out her cellphone and called Rouleau. “Nobody home at the Underwoods.”

“How about Underwood’s daughter, Geraldine Oliver? Are you okay to go over to her place?”

“Yeah. I could do that, but I’ve never met her. It’ll be a shock, and didn’t somebody say she’s pregnant?”

“Right. It might be better if she heard from a family member.”

“I can drive out to Hunter’s. It won’t take too long now that I know where he lives.”

“Sure you’re not too tired?”

“I can go a few days without sleep. Anyway, somebody in the family has to be told before word leaks out.”

“We’ll need him to identify his father, although there’s no doubt based on the photo Laurel gave us. You sure you’re okay to do this?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve broken the news of a sudden death to family members before. Any word from Whelan?”

“Nothing. When I reach him, I’ll get him to meet you.”

“I’m on my way then.”

“Bring Hunter to the station.”

“Will do.”

“I’m pulling in Grayson and Malik. They’ll be here within the hour. I need to sign off. I’m being paged.”

Kala tucked her phone into her jacket pocket and walked back to her truck. She trod carefully on the icy driveway. It hadn’t been plowed since the last light snowfall and drifts hid patches of black ice. The cab of the truck was still warm from her drive to the Underwoods. She turned the heater up high and pushed a John Hiatt CD into the player before starting down the circular driveway.

She stopped when she reached the road to look back at Underwood’s grey stone mansion. It was an imposing residence. Too many rooms to be cozy and too much space for three people. It was a depressing contrast to the shacks she’d lived in growing up.

She checked both ways and pulled onto Winding Way.

All that money and what had it gotten him? Nothing that mattered much in the end.

This time, there was no dog to greet her. The property was silent and deserted. Kala stepped away from her truck and looked around. Hunter hadn’t cleared the woods from his property or cut back the brush. His house nestled into the pines and snow as if it was posing for a Christmas card photo. Even the low cloud cover and first flakes of snow added to the effect. It left her homesick for her own woods and her own cabin.

Hunter didn’t answer the door although his truck was in the driveway. She knocked a third time, jumping from foot to foot to keep the circulation moving. When he still didn’t answer, she started walking toward the side of the house. She reached the corner and heard music coming from the back of the property. A narrow path led her around the side of the house to a barnyard-grey workshop. Through the window, she spotted Hunter standing in front of an easel, dotting at his work with a paintbrush, totally absorbed while classical music filled the shop and spilled into the winter air. He wore a white denim shirt rolled up at the sleeves and tucked into black jeans, and he’d tied his hair back from his face with a red bandana. Kala watched him for a full minute before she knocked, thinking about how she would tell him that his father was dead.

Hunter opened the door and his eyes searched her face before he stepped aside to let her in. “Just give me a minute.” He crossed the floor to turn down the stereo and then returned to his easel to close up the paints and soak his paintbrush in turpentine.

She took the time to look at the bronze statues. Two sat next to each other on a work table. The first was of a pig-tailed girl in a leotard on a balance beam. The second was an older girl spinning on ice skates. Her hands were spread wide and her face turned upwards. The detail was exquisite. She turned to face him. “Your work is brilliant. I can feel the joy in each of these children. Are the pieces for sale? They are just so perfect.… I’m not much of an art connoisseur, but these are magnificent.”

Hunter tucked his head. When he looked up, he was smiling. “No, these were all done on commission. They’re Christmas presents. The dad is coming to pick them up later today. He had them done for his wife.”

“They’re simply beautiful,” she said.

“Thanks. I’m told I have my mother’s eye.”

“You’re both very talented.” Kala moved closer to the door. “I’m actually here on police business.”

“I thought that might be the case.” He waited, his grey eyes on hers.

“I’m afraid it’s bad news. We found a man’s body early this morning and we believe it is your father.”

Hunter’s brow furrowed. “You found his body? Where?”

“In his car. At the Central Experimental Farm.”

“Are you sure it is my father? Was it … suicide?”

“I need you to come with me to make the official identification, but we believe it is him. The car is registered to your father. We couldn’t find Laurel to tell her so you are the first of the family to know.”

He rubbed his hand across his jaw. “I can’t believe it.” He looked up. “Geraldine doesn’t know?”

She shook her head. “No. You’re the first we’ve been able to reach.”

“Shit.”

She thought he was upset that she hadn’t told Geraldine, but then she realized that his eyes were looking past her to the door. She heard a clumping noise outside. The door opened at the same time as she turned. A cold blast of air filled the room, bringing with it a hugely pregnant woman. Her smile disappeared when she looked from Kala to her brother.

“Hunter! I’m early. They got my hair appointment mixed up and I just kept driving. I’m sorry.” She held a bag with a baguette sticking out the top and a cake box under her other arm. “I can just go up to the house and wait for you until your customer leaves.” She turned to go but Hunter stopped her.

“No. It’s fine, Geraldine. I was expecting you. Come in out of the cold. Here, let me help you.” He reached for her packages and guided her gently by the arm.

Kala studied the two of them together. Geraldine had a long, narrow face with a wide nose that made her eyes look too close together. Her eyes were grey like her brother’s, but a paler, washed-out shade. Hunter leaned into her as if protecting her from what was to come.

“I have to drive into town for an hour or so. Will you be able to get the soup on the stove and kick back until I return? I prepared it last night so it just needs heating up.”

Geraldine looked up at him and smiled. “Of course. I’ll read that book you keep meaning to lend me.”

“In the bookcase on the right,” said Hunter. “Fabio will keep you company. He’s sleeping by the hot air vent in the kitchen.”

“Don’t worry about me then.” Geraldine held out a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Hunter’s sister, Geraldine.”

“Pleased to meet you. Kala Stonechild.” She shook Geraldine’s. She’d decided to play along with Hunter. His eyes had flashed a silent pleading for her to go easy. If Geraldine hadn’t been so obviously pregnant, she would have asked some questions about her father. There’d be time enough after he identified the body.

Hunter took his coat from the hook by the door and followed them outside into the frigid morning. Kala took a moment to inhale the frosty air while she surveyed the dark line of woods that stretched to the east of Hunter’s house. The sky was heavy with clouds and the snow was starting to pick up. She led the way on the narrow packed path back toward the house and continued to the driveway while Hunter helped Geraldine and her packages safely inside. He joined Kala in the driveway where she stood next to his Jeep.

“Thanks for that. Dad and Geraldine are close and I don’t know how this is going to affect her. I want to make sure it really is Dad before we have to put her through a load of grief.”

“Understood, but we’ll need to speak with her afterward.”

Hunter unlocked the Jeep and reached for the scraper. He started the engine to warm it up and began cleaning snow off the windshield as he talked. “I’ll follow you.” His hand stopped mid-motion like he’d just thought of something. He turned to face her. “You never said how he died.”

Kala hesitated. “I think it best you identify him. Then we can talk about how he died.”

He started to protest but stopped himself. Instead, he shrugged and raised the scrapper to the windshield. “Fair enough. I guess waiting another hour won’t make much difference, that is, if it really is my father.”