“What were the odds of that happening?” asked Kala.
“At this time of year? Pretty good. Staff takes a lot of holidays and there isn’t a lot of consistency on the front desk.”
“Did she say when she’d be back in town?”
“Christmas afternoon, if we didn’t contact her beforehand. She left a phone number in Quebec. Are you up for a visit before dinner? We have another hour and a bit before the roast is cooked.”
Kala was already on her feet. “I’ll bet she doesn’t know that he’s dead yet.”
“This will be a horrible day to find out,” said Rouleau.
16
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