Читать книгу Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 4-Book Bundle - Brenda Chapman - Страница 37

Sunday, January 1, 11:00 a.m.

Susan Halliday looked across at Officer Stonechild and her sidekick, the young good-looking officer with the cleft chin. She met their gazes head on, no flinching or dropping of eyes. She knew why they’d come. Eleven o’clock on New Year’s morning and they acted like it was a routine call. She wondered if Clinton would realize they were here to make sure he returned to Trenton base without doing her in. They were already too late to make sure he didn’t hurt her. She instinctively raised her left hand to rub her arm but kept her hand moving up to her hair, which she pretended to pat into place. She hoped they didn’t notice how little she was using her right arm. The shoulder was swollen and hurt to move from where Clinton had gripped her in a rage the night before.

Clinton stood from his spot next to her on the couch. “Well, if you don’t have any more questions for me, I have to pack. I’m expected back at the base this afternoon.”

“Your uniforms are pressed and hanging in the spare room, darling,” said Susan.

“Thank you,” he said smiling down at her. “You’re the best wife a man could ask for.” He bent and kissed the top of her head.

She smiled up at him, playing the role he expected. She’d learned it was better to pretend to forgive him than to let him know how much he’d hurt her. If she stood up to him now, he’d make her pay later, in private.

They watched him leave the room with his stilted military gait. Officer Stonechild waited a few beats before asking for the tea Susan had offered at their arrival. Susan wondered how she was going to manage a tray as she agreed to put the kettle on.

“Sit,” said the young officer. “I’ll go make it while you two have a chat. That is, if you don’t mind?”

“That would be lovely. The teabags are in a blue canister next to the stove and the sugar bowl is on the table.” He made it sound like she and this detective with the black eyes that saw everything were girlfriends having another gab. Nothing could be further from the truth.

He left the room and Officer Stonechild turned toward her. “I believe you’re hiding something that could help us figure out who murdered Tom and likely Benny. It’s time to share what you know.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken. I’m not hiding anything.”

“You told me that you and Tom began seeing each other secretly about six months ago, is this correct?”

“Yes. I met him by chance on one of my walks and he came back here for coffee. It began then.” She remembered the day with a longing so sharp that Tom might be sitting across from her now. “Tom was going through a personal crisis. He was despondent about work and his life with Laurel. We found we had a lot in common.”

“You also said that you stopped seeing each other. You’d decided to wait until you were both free before moving away together, is this correct?”

“Yes, we agreed not to see each other until we’d taken steps to leave our marriages.”

“Had you begun proceedings before Tom was killed?”

“No. I planned to tell Clinton I was moving out after the Christmas break. I believe if he knew about me and Tom, he would have told me by now.”

“Are you still planning to leave the marriage?”

“There doesn’t seem to be much point now.”

“Has anyone in Tom’s family let on that they knew about your relationship?”

“No. As I told you, we were discreet. I’d also like to thank you for not telling anyone. You know, Detective, I never believed that our affair had anything to do with Tom’s death, or Bennie’s for that matter. Their deaths had to be linked to their work.”

“You may well be right.” Kala turned toward the door. “Here comes Officer Bennett with our tea.”

Clinton followed Bennett into the room. He walked over to Susan. “I’m on my way then. I’ll see you in a few weeks.” He bent down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll call tonight.”

“I’ll be waiting by the phone at the usual time,” she said.

Susan watched the officers leave from behind the curtain in the den. She didn’t know why she’d kept secret that she and Tom had met the night before he went missing. It just felt like the last precious memory she had to hold on to. She didn’t want their last time together to be defiled by the police or to be investigated. Nobody else knew about that night. How could it possibly have anything to do with his murder? She let the curtain drop back into place and stepped back from the window.

Clinton must be half way to Trenton. It was a clear winter day and he should make good time on the highway. She’d planned to clean the house today, but her shoulder ached too much to do any lifting. She’d have a hot bath and curl up with a book. If she felt like it later, she might walk over to Pauline’s to see if she wanted to go to a movie. It would cheer them both up. Then she remembered that it was New Year’s Day. Pauline would be doing something with her family. Normally she was included, but there was nothing normal about this holiday.

Perhaps she’d just slip back into bed for a nap. They’d had a late night at the country club and then Clinton had gone into that tirade after she’d been reluctant to have sex. She should have just given in without telling him she was tired. This time it had been her fault.

She started walking slowly upstairs, undoing her blouse as she went. She winced as she pulled the sleeve down her arm. A sleep and then a bath. The detective seemed awfully concerned with her welfare no matter how many times she told her not to be. Susan stood at the entrance to the bedroom she shared with Clinton and looked at the king size bed for a moment before continuing down the hall. The bed in the smallest spare room was made up and the place she slept when Clinton was away.

The detective didn’t need to be so concerned with her welfare because she wasn’t. If someone wanted to kill her, she’d welcome it. A quick death was preferable to the empty life that lay before her without Tom. It would be considerably better than the miserable existence she was going to have with Clinton if she didn’t work up the energy to leave him. If she could close her eyes and never wake up, she would choose to do so with no regret, no looking back. Death would be a blessing.