Читать книгу Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 3-Book Bundle - Brenda Chapman - Страница 20

Sunday, December 25, 7:20 p.m.

Geraldine sat in the car next to Max and stared out the window, imagining the happy families grouped around Christmas trees, kids playing with their new toys, and parents sipping red wine while Christmas songs played on the stereo. There’d be the smell of turkey that had cooked all day in the oven and a fire in the grate. Everyone behind the closed curtains would be having a happier time than she was having, that was for damn sure.

Max fiddled with the radio dial again, flipping through stations until he found one that played country music. He turned up the volume.

“I like this song,” he said.

It was about a woman who caught her man cheating and destroyed his car. Carrie Underwood. Now there was a woman who wouldn’t put up with a husband like Max.

Geraldine turned her head and looked at him. He was wearing a long black coat and mustard-coloured striped scarf like he was a GQ model. She used to like how he dressed. She thought he had style. Now she knew the clothes were just show. She waited for the song to end and reached over to turn down the volume. Max’s eyes flicked across at her, but he didn’t say anything. She settled back in the seat, uncomfortable with the way the baby was lying inside her stomach. A little body part, likely a foot, was pushing her stomach from within like a butterfly trapped inside. She patted the bump gently through her fur coat, then roused herself to make a comment.

“I was surprised Mom still wanted to cook a big meal with everything going on.”

“Hunter didn’t eat much supper. That’s not like him,” Max replied.

“It wasn’t because of a guilty conscience if that’s what you’re implying.”

“If you say so. Nobody mentioned your father once. Don’t you find that odd?”

“We don’t need to. He’s everywhere I look.”

Max took one hand off the wheel and reached over to touch her belly. “You have to stay calm for the baby. Try not to think about it too much.”

She nodded, but didn’t say anything. His unexpected show of tenderness had made her throat fill up with sobs that she would not let escape. She looked out her window again and was startled to see they’d turned the corner onto their street. A familiar black car was parked next to the curb across from their house. She squinted through the glass and turned to glare at Max. “You didn’t tell me J.P. and Benny were coming over.”

“I invited them for a Christmas drink. I didn’t think you’d mind since you’re always in bed by eight.”

“Shouldn’t the two of them be home with their families? This is supposed to be the one day of the year when families spend time together.”

Max’s voice took on the impatient note he was using more and more. “Come on, Geraldine. We’ve been working hard to pick up the pieces. Your father’s death left a big hole and we’re leaning on each other. It’s a time people want to be together. Besides, if Christmas is just for families, what were Susan and Clinton doing at your mother’s?”

“They are like family.” She refused to let him sidetrack her. “I never got the feeling J.B. even liked Dad … or you, for that matter.”

“He’s a means to an end. With your father gone, I have to keep on his good side so he keeps me in the business. You must get that?”

“Maybe you should get out of that business. I think it’s what led to my father’s murder. He was very unhappy lately.”

“J.P. asked me to take over the deal your father was working on. When I get this inventor to sign, it’s going to mean a huge bonus for us. It also might make me partner if I play this right.”

Anger pulsed like an infusion of cold water through her veins. “You’ve wasted no time benefiting from my father’s death. How long have the three of you been cooking this up?”

“I won’t dignify that with an answer,” Max said coldly. He pulled the car into the driveway and turned off the ignition. His face was half in shadow when he turned to her. “I’ve cooked nothing up with J.P. and Benny and would appreciate you keeping these accusations to yourself. You’re distraught and hormonal and you’re not thinking straight. Your father’s death was tragic, but I have a window of opportunity here that I’m taking for you and the baby. This is about our future. Now, I’d appreciate it if you could be civil before you make your excuses and head off to bed. We have business to discuss and I don’t need you there messing it up.”

“Fine.” She grabbed the door handle and gave it a wrench so that the door swung open. She faced him before she started the task of moving her bulk out of the seat. “But if I find any one of you had anything to do with my father’s death, I will not remain silent. You can count on that when you’re adding up how much money you’re going to make off his murder.”

“That’s odd,” said Kala. She turned and looked through the car back window at the green Jeep they’d just passed. She’d spotted it under a street light.

Rouleau glanced in the rearview mirror. “What’s odd? Should I go back?”

She glanced at him. “I’ve seen that Jeep recently.” She ran scenes through her mind. “Hunter Underwood. Why wouldn’t he park in Laurel’s driveway if he came to visit her?”

“And what would make him visit her in the first place?” asked Rouleau. “If he really has come to see her, he’s parked three blocks away. Most curious. You have keen eyes, Stonechild.”

“Thanks.”

Rouleau turned the corner onto Winding Way. A black Mercedes was parked half-way up her driveway. A thin layer of snow coated the roof and windows. He pulled in behind it and turned off the engine. “I don’t think we’ll be breaking the news of her husband’s death if Hunter got here first. By the look of her car, she’s been home a while.”

“Too bad,” said Stonechild. “I wanted to watch her reaction.”

She and Rouleau followed a set of men’s footsteps toward the front door. “Her company hasn’t been here long though,” observed Rouleau. “Snow would have filled in these prints. It started up again an hour ago.”

He rang the doorbell and stepped back.

Laurel opened the door with the chimes still reverberating down the hallway. She was dressed completely in black, her red hair curled in long tendrils to her shoulders and her violet eyes red from weeping. Hunter stood next to her in the hallway, his duffle coat buttoned and gloves on his hands. He looked past Rouleau and found Kala’s eyes. His were apologetic.

Laurel took a step closer to be directly in front of Rouleau. “How could you not have told me?” Her voice choked with anger. Kala thought the suffering in her face genuine. “I said if anything came up. Anything! I think my husband’s murder would have been a no-brainer. All you had to do was call me. I was just a phone call away. You just had to call.” Her voice trailed away to a whimper. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Hunter laid a hand on her back. She turned and collapsed against him, but only for a moment. When she turned to face them, her face was resigned. “I suppose if we need to talk, we can do it in the kitchen.” She started down the hallway, not waiting for Rouleau to respond.

“Would you like me to stay?” asked Hunter.

Rouleau nodded before he bent down to slip off his boots. “I think that would be best.” He started after Laurel while Hunter remained behind.

Kala looked up at him from where she’d leaned against the wall to pull off a boot. “Do you stop by often?” she asked quietly.

Red diffused upward from his collar. “No, but I’ve been checking because somebody had to tell her. Nobody else in the family would have made the call. I thought it would be a kindness if she heard about her husband’s murder in person.”

“Your sister wouldn’t tell her?”

“Geraldine? Not bloody likely.” His voice was as low as hers. The conversation felt too close and intimate. His eyes burned into hers as if he was trying to convince her that he was telling the truth. She swayed and he reached out and steadied her as she wobbled on one foot. His touch was unexpected. She pulled her arm away but not before his eyes looked hard into her own. She averted her eyes from his and took a step backward. She was uncomfortably aware of his closeness. He smelled of the outdoors and wood smoke.

She followed him into the kitchen. Two glasses were on the table, one empty and one newly filled with amber liquid. Laurel lifted it to her lips. “Cheers,” she said to nobody in particular. Hunter put the empty glass on the counter and sat in the chair closest to Laurel. He rested a hand on her wrist as if to calm her.

Rouleau glanced up at Kala and then back to Laurel. “Unfortunately, your messages went through to the voicemail of an officer who’s been on sick leave,” he said. “We’ve been by your home and called your phone numbers several times. We didn’t find out until now that you’d left another number. We had no idea where you’d gone.”

“But I phoned twice. Both times the officer who answered sent me through to the voicemail. I thought … I thought my husband might join us if I was where we were supposed to be. We’d booked the chalet and I was hoping he would come to me. If he was in trouble, he would reach me there.”

“Where is the chalet?”

“Mount Tremblant. Several hours from here.”

“Didn’t you have your cellphone with you?” asked Kala. “You gave us the number when we were last here. We called numerous times but it was turned off.”

Laurel nodded. “After I left the number at the chalet, I turned off my phone. Charlotte and I only left the chalet to go for walks and I thought you would call me at the number I left twice on that voicemail.”

“For which we sincerely apologize,” said Rouleau.

Laurel turned toward Hunter, who had sat without moving through the exchange. “I just can’t believe it. Who would kill Tom?”

“So you hadn’t heard from your husband since you reported him missing,” said Rouleau. It was a statement, not a question. “Do you have any idea at all who would have wanted to harm him?”

Laurel shook her head. Her eyes were closed and tears seeped from under her eyelids.

Hunter slid his hand down to cover one of her hands with his own. He turned to look at Rouleau. “I couldn’t say either.”

“What time did you arrive today?” Rouleau asked Hunter.

“A half hour or so before you.”

“How did you know Laurel would be home?”

Hunter shrugged. “It was a guess. I was in town anyway and decided to take a chance. Nothing more covert, I’m afraid.”

“But you parked three blocks away,” said Kala. “Why?”

Hunter turned his gaze back to her. His half-smile revealed nothing. “I felt like a walk in the snow. I’d been sitting a long time and wanted some exercise.”

Laurel hit the table with the palm of her hand and they all looked at her. “All these intrusive questions when you should be out looking for who murdered my husband. Hunter had nothing to do with it and neither did I. I demand that you stop harassing us and find the person who did this!”

Kala glanced at Rouleau. He looked regretful but unmoved at the same time. She imagined it was an expression that served him well in other investigations. When he spoke, his tone was measured.

“We’re only doing our job, madam. I’m sorry if you find the questions objectionable, but don’t forget that your answers can serve to remove you as suspects. We only go where the evidence leads us, but to do that we must ask questions. I know your husband’s death has come as a shock, but I assure you that we are doing everything possible to bring whoever is responsible to justice, including asking questions of everyone who knew him.”

Laurel’s shoulders slumped and she lowered her head so that a tumble of red hair covered her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just feel so … devastated.”

Kala studied her. Her submissive reaction struck a false note, but if Rouleau felt the same way, she couldn’t tell.

He stood. We’d like to search your husband’s home office and bedroom if you would be so kind. I have officers who will be looking for anything at all that will let us know who your husband was meeting the morning he disappeared.

Laurel raised her eyes. “I looked everywhere when he didn’t come home but didn’t find anything. I don’t think you’ll find anything either.”

“But we will look. The team will be here within the half hour. We’ll leave no stone unturned. Of this you can be assured.” He motioned to Kala. “Perhaps you could show Officer Stonechild the library while she waits for the other officers to arrive.”

Kala watched Laurel look at Hunter through the veil of hair that shielded her face. Whatever passed between them must have satisfied her because she nodded her head in his direction before standing.

“I’ll do all it takes, to punish Tom’s killer,” she said. “If you need to camp out in our house and go through every goddamn piece of paper, you’re welcome to it.”