Читать книгу Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 5-Book Bundle - Brenda Chapman - Страница 40

Sunday, February 26, 7:10 a.m.

Susan waited by the back door, getting overheated in her down winter coat. She could hear Clinton upstairs walking from the bathroom to their bedroom and back again. He must be almost done packing his toiletries and the last of his clothes. A few more minutes and he’d be on his way downstairs.

She waited until she heard him leave the bedroom to cross to the landing at the head of the stairs before opening the front door. She stepped outside into the dark, cold morning, which was all the more painful after two weeks of above seasonal temperatures. Her nightgown under the knee-length coat clung to her legs as she darted down the steps and the icy walk to Clinton’s Toyota. Her breath was a cloud of frosty mist in front of her. She fumbled with the electronic opener and hoisted herself into the front seat, leaving one leg to dangle outside the open door. The engine took some coaxing but turned over on the third try. Clinton had forgotten to plug in the block heater the night before, and it was the coldest morning they’d had in quite a while. She adjusted the dial to turn the heater on full before stepping down to scoot back inside the house.

A white paper fluttering under the windshield wiper on the driver’s side of the frosted window of her van caught her attention. She smiled and carefully removed the paper, tucking it into her pocket.

At last.

Clinton met her just inside the door, putting on his green coat. He’d already laced up his black army boots.

“Cold out there?”

“Very,” she shivered and decided to keep her coat on a while longer.

“A few minutes earlier next time, aye? It won’t have warmed up before I hit the 417.”

“Sorry.” She forced herself to frown as if she really was.

“That’s okay. I’ll call tonight at the usual time.”

“I’ll be waiting. Drive safe,” she said as an afterthought.

He grabbed the sleeve of her coat and pulled her to him. Panic fluttered in her chest for the briefest of moments before she felt his hot lips on hers. He forced his tongue into her mouth. She forced herself to relax and fought down the urge to gag.

He smiled as he pulled back from her. “Stay out of trouble.” He patted her rear end hard enough to leave a mark, if she hadn’t been wearing a layer of down.

“Always,” she responded.

She locked the door after he left and watched through the curtain in the living room until she was certain he’d gone. She drifted into the kitchen. As usual, Clinton’s dishes were rinsed and neatly stacked in the sink. She’d made him bacon and eggs but hadn’t eaten any herself. It was odd this feeling of never being hungry.

She took a coffee mug from the cupboard over the sink and poured herself a cup from the coffeemaker. The first few swallows washed away the taste of him in her mouth. She pushed the hair out of her eyes, catching sight of her reflection in the window. When had she become this old woman with tangled hair and haunted eyes?

She crossed the floor and sat down heavily at the kitchen table. She stared into her coffee cup and tried to find the energy to drink. A flush of heat travelled up her neck and cheeks and she remembered that she still wore her down coat. She wiggled one arm out of a sleeve and paper crinkled in the pocket. The note! She reached inside and pulled it out, smoothing it on the table as she shrugged out of the other sleeve. A smile tugged at her lips. Pauline.

She was always leaving notes for people in unexpected places. An obsessive walker, she’d drop messages in the mailbox or under windshield wipers if it was too early or too late to visit. This one was short and unsigned. The letters were jerky as if Pauline’d leaned the paper against a tree while she scrawled the message. The usual place? Nine a.m.

Susan sighed deeply. Maybe her friend was back from the deep well inside herself where she’d retreated to grieve. They’d hardly spoken since Tom died, but now Pauline seemed willing to revive their daily walks down by the Rideau River. Not for the first time, she was glad that Pauline had never found out about her and Tom. It would have strained their friendship, perhaps irreparably, and Susan would be bereft without this link to Tom and her past to hang onto, especially now.

As their relationship had blossomed, Tom had confided how bad he felt about Pauline and their divorce and what it had done to Geraldine and Hunter. The weight of it had become a burden of guilt exacerbated by his failed second marriage and what he knew lay ahead for Charlotte. He’d gone to visit Hunter at her urging and had spent time with Pauline after she told him that making restitution would help to heal Pauline’s wounds — and his own. He’d been mending fences and had been finding a measure of peace before his death. This knowledge gave her solace now.

That last night when he’d come over, he’d told her that he was ready to move out of the house he shared with Laurel to find an apartment in downtown Ottawa. He’d wait for her there to break free of Clinton. He didn’t care if they stayed in Ottawa, but if he fought for joint custody of Charlotte, it would be best if they remained somewhere in Ontario. He didn’t want to do to Charlotte what he’d done to Geraldine and Hunter, but she knew he was worried about how Clinton would react to her departure and would leave this city for her. She hadn’t told Tom how bad it had gotten at home, but she wondered now if he’d guessed and that was why he’d been willing to make a move. She’d been stronger that last night, determined to face Clinton and tell him that their marriage was over. Tom had given her strength. Now … well now she could barely muster the energy to lift this full cup of coffee to her lips.

The sun had risen enough so that Susan could see the dark outline of trees beyond the patio doors. Cloud cover would keep the day a sullen grey but it would be plenty light enough for a tramp along the riverbank in Chapman Mills Conservation Area, a ten minute drive across Prince of Wales Drive south of Winding Way. Normally, she’d walk the distance, but today she’d be too cold by the time she reached their meeting spot.

Susan stirred herself to stand up and get moving. If she hurried, there would be time for a quick bath and a bowl of granola before she set out to meet Pauline. Fresh air and a walk with her oldest friend could be all she needed to get her energy back. It would be two weeks before Clinton returned home from the base. Time enough to pull herself out of this dangerous funk. Time enough to decide the best way to leave him.