“They left nothing.” He pushed the door shut with a bang. She could hear the lock click into place and the chain sliding back.
So, that’s how it will be.
Kala looked at Rose’s door one last time, willing it to open before she started down the stairs. She reached the bottom step and leaned heavily against the wall, her energy suddenly drained away. She watched a woman and young girl pass by on the sidewalk, snow dusting their heads like icing sugar.
Relationships are never the tidy packages we would like. People can disappoint.
Rouleau could have been talking about her life. Kala’s jaw tightened. She’d invented a relationship that was as dead as that man they’d thrown into the river when she was ten years old. She’d been crazy to believe the bond between her and Rose was real. Rose was only a childish fantasy that kept her going through years of having nobody.
The old man’s door creaked open again and she sensed him on the landing. She looked at the stained carpet and suddenly couldn’t wait to get out of there. It was time to keep moving. She pushed herself away from the wall and caught her blurry reflection in the glass. She straightened her shoulders and pulled her hood up over her head before stepping outside into the night. Checking both ways for traffic, she ran through the falling snow toward her truck.
It would take her where she needed to go.
Acknowledgements
Bringing a book to its final form takes a great deal of work and vision by many dedicated folks. First, thank you to Sylvia McConnell for reading the original manuscript and championing it for publication — your support and encouragement have always been invaluable. Thanks also go to Allister Thompson for his continued support these many years. Cold Mourning was patiently and carefully edited by Jennifer McKnight, and Karen McMullin coordinated publicity — thank you both for all of your guidance and hard work. Thanks also to Jesse Hooper and Carmen Giraudy for the splendid cover design. My deep appreciation goes to the entire Dundurn team, led by Publisher Kirk Howard and Vice-President Beth Bruder, for your belief in Canadian authors and our work.
Since the release of my first mystery novel in 2004, I have belonged to a supportive crime- writing group called Capital Crime Writers. I’ve benefited from a wealth of subject specialists who’ve visited our monthly meetings. Retired Sergeant Damien Coakeley from Ottawa Police Services was one such guest speaker, who went on to read my manuscript and to guide me on details of the crime and investigative techniques. I owe Damien a huge debt of gratitude for his first-hand knowledge and wise advice.
I also would like to acknowledge the supportive crime-writing community in Ottawa and across the country. In particular, I would like to express my deep respect and appreciation to my Ottawa writing buddies Mary Jane Maffini, Barbara Fradkin, Linda Wiken, R.J. Harlick, Tim Wynne-Jones, Rick Mofina, Thomas Rendell Curran, Alex Brett, C.B. Forrest, Jeff Ross, Michael J. McCann, Dave Whellams, and Peggy Blair. You each make this writing gig a lot more fun.
Many friends and readers, old and new, have supported me along the way. Every kind comment, Facebook “like” and retweet have made me smile and kept me motivated. You are the ones who show up at my book launches and signings, send words of encouragement across the miles and, most importantly, read my books — I thank each and every one of you.
Finally, thank you to my family, near and far. Ted, Lisa, and Julia Weagle, you are much loved and appreciated — and welcome to our family, Robin Guy. A special word of love and affection to my sister in law Phyllis Goucher, who has always been one of my strongest cheerleaders.
Butterfly Kills
Dedication
For all the courageous hearts.
Epigraph
“I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free.”
— Charles Dickens
Chapter One
Leah Sampson couldn’t wait for the day to end. Twelve straight hours on the phone talking students through school jitters, boyfriend troubles, and suicidal thoughts was enough to make anyone go mad. Whoever said this generation had their shit together was dreaming in Technicolor. The problems she’d worked this lot through today had left her drained. A glass of Pinot, bowl of chocolate ice cream, and soak in a hot tub were long past due.
She turned her head as Wolf skirted past her desk to flop onto the couch positioned under a line of grimy windows. Darkness pressed against the glass and she glanced at her watch. Ten to nine. Ten more minutes and she’d be on her way home.
She tuned back into the girl’s voice droning into her ear and waited for her to take a breath. “If he threatens to hit you again, call me back,” Leah said. “We’ll talk further about your options. It’ll be time to decide whether you want to make a change. Yes, call anytime. We’re always here to help you through.”
She wearily hung up and looked across at Wolf, his long legs stretched out on the floor in front of him. His eyes were closed.
“What have you got on for tonight?” he asked.
A question inside of a question. He was really asking if she’d ended the affair. Had she stopped slinking around behind his back?
She couldn’t risk him finding out what she’d done. Not yet.
“I’m going home, alone, and putting my feet up,” she said, using both hands to refasten the clip that held her long hair away from her face. “And I’ll be in the library writing a paper tomorrow, so no chance of getting into trouble.”
Wolf’s eyes flashed open; expressive green orbs flecked with gold. They were half of the reason why he’d been nicknamed a member of the animal kingdom. The other half lay in his mane of brown hair and full beard. She could have added his animal fierceness in bed, but that was an observation she’d attempted to seal away in her memory bank. Some days with more success than others.
He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll walk you out if you’re ready.”
She glanced at her watch again. Four minutes after nine. “Where the hell is Gail? She’s taking over the line from me and late as usual.”
“Getting a coffee. She’ll be back in a few.”
“I can’t leave until she gets here.”
“I’ll wait.”
With blessed kindness, the phone remained silent until Gail traipsed in at a quarter past. Leah grimaced in her direction, but Gail ignored the rebuke just as she ignored most subtleties in life. Spiky red hair, round face, and rounder body littered with cartoon character tattoos and piercings, her style was as unapologetic as her character. Yet, Leah had to admit that Gail had a way with the callers; an empathy one couldn’t fake.
Gail balanced a coffee cup in one hand and a biology text and iPad under her arm. “How’re our loonies doing today?” she asked. “I hope they had the grace to call you and didn’t save up their anxieties for my shift.”
“Nice,” said Wolf, rubbing a hand through his beard. “If callers knew the sensitive face of Queen’s University at the other end of the help line, they might think twice about sharing their secrets with you.”
“I’m just talking about the repeat loonies who wallow in messes of their own making.” Gail dropped into the swivel chair newly vacated by Leah and scattered her possessions across the desk. “Thank God for the rule never to meet any of them. Can you imagine?”
“The regulars have all phoned in this afternoon, I think,” Leah said. “Some more than once.” She grabbed her cellphone from the desk. “We’re off then.” She turned